GIFT   OF 

Mrs.    John  B.   Casserly 


N\) 


LITERARY 


CRITICISMS 


AND 


OTHER    PAPERS 


BY    THE    LATE 

HORACE    BINNBY   WALLACE,    ESQUIRE, 

OF    PHILADELPHIA. 


SECOND    EDITION. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
PARRY      &     M  c  M  I  L  L  A  N, 

SUCCESSORS  TO  A.  HART,  LATE  CAREY  &  HART. 

1  85G. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1856,  by 

PARRY   &   MCMILLAN, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  in  and  for  the 
Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 

STEREOTYPED  BY  GEORGE  CHARLES.  PRINTED  BY  T.  K.  &  P.  G.  COLLINS. 


TO 


GEORGE    P.    MORRIS, 


THE  TONES  OP  WHOSE  LYRE  HAVE  WAKED,  IN  FOREIGN  LANDS,  A  RESPONSE  FROM 


"  Those  chords  of  pervading  Nature, 
"Which  fraternize  multitudes  of  differing  nations;' 


AND  OF  WHOM  THE  AUTHOR  OF  THESE  WRITINGS  SATS: 

"  Search  the  wide  world  over,  and  you  shall  not  find  among  the  literary  men 
of  any  nation,  one  on  whom  the  dignity  of  a  free  and  manly  spirit  sits  with  a 
grace  more  native  and  familiar :  whose  acts,  whether  common  and  daily,  or 
deliberate  and  much  considered,  are  wont,  at  all  times,  to  be  more  beautifully 
impressed  with  those  marks  of  sincerity,,  of  modesty,  and  of  justice,  which  form 
the  very  seal  of  worth  in  conduct;" 

THESE   PAGES   ARE  AFFECTIONATELY   INSCRIBED 

BY  THE  EDITOR. 


756967 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


THE  papers  which  are  contained  in  this  volume  are  the  pro 
ductions  of  a  young  man,  whose  career  was  terminated  in  a  foreign 
country,  at  the  age  of  thirty-five.  Much  of  the  last  year  of  his  life 
had  been  occupied  in  the  pursuit  of  health.  He  had  previously 
passed  a  considerable  time  in  foreign  travel,  and  when  at  home,  and 
while  discharging,  with  remarkable  interest  and  fidelity,  all  the 
duties  of  his  social  and  civil  station,  had  been  a  constant  laborer  in 
his  profession,  the  law,  to  which  science  he  had  contributed  some  of 
the  best  known  and  most  authoritative  publications  which  American 
Jurisprudence  now  owns.  A  volume,  entitled  "  Art,  Scenery  and 
Philosophy  in  Europe,"  was  published  in  1855,  from  manuscripts 
found  in  his  port-folio  at  Paris,  after  his  death ;  but,  as  a  literary 
writer,  he  was  not  during  his  life-time  ever  publicly  known,  nor  at  \ 
all  willing  to  be  known.  No  one  of  the  papers,  printed  since  his 
death,  was  ever  acknowledged  by  him  in  any  way ;  and,  outside  of  his 
profession,  every  thing  that  he  either  wrote  or  printed  was  given  off 
by  him  in  the  most  perishable  form,  and  without  the  least  idea  of 
ever  claiming  or  acknowledging  it  himself,  or  of  its  being  at  any 
time  presented  by  others  as  his.  These  facts  are  proper  to  be 
stated,  in  order  that  the  reader  may  understand  the  true  relation  of 
Mr.  Wallace  to  what  is  here  presented  as  the  production  of  his  pen. 
It  is  probable  that  occasional  passages  in  the  present  volume  ought 
not  to  be  regarded  as  the  completed  or  final  expression  of  his  judg 
ment  ;  and  it  is  certain,  from  what  has  been  already  said,  that  he  did 
not  regard  any  of  the  pieces  as  a  satisfactory  expression  of  literary 
effort.  Many  of  them,  as  will  be  seen  by  the  indication  placed  at 
the  head  of  each  page,  were  written  at  the  age  of  twenty-one  or 
below  it,  and  were  merely  tentative ;  "  the  flights  of  a  noble  bird,  for 
the  first  time  essaying  his  own  wings."  Indeed,  his  life,  up  to  its 
close,  seemed  to  have  been  one  chiefly  of  study  and  preparation  ; 
and  it  was  one  of  the  sad  circumstances  connected  with  his  death, 
that  his  fine  powers  seem  to  be  arranging  themselves,  with  con 
fidence  in  their  own  strength,  for  great,  sustained,  and  systematic 
1  (v) 


ri  ADVERTISEMENT. 

labor  in  the  departments  of  literature,  philosophy  and  politics,  when 
they  were  paralyzed  at  their  source. 

The  pieces,  it  will  be  perceived,  are  different  in  extent  and  charac 
ter.  Several  of  them  are  fragmentary.  A  few  have  been  printed  in 
an  ephemeral  and  limited  form.  Of  these  several  were  designed  as 
expressions  of  friendly  feeling  to  literary  men  of  our  country  who  are 
the  subjects  of  them,  and  who  till  now,  it  is  probable,  have  never 
known,  except  as  they  may  have  inferred  it  from  internal  evidence, 
the  pen  from  which  they  came.  Some  were  contributions,  sponta 
neous  or  solicited,  to  the  enterprises  of  unfriended  merit  seeking 
subsistence  in  the  scanty  fields  of  our  native  literature;  a  few 
have  appeared  in  newspapers  or  other  journals,  the  editors  of  which, 
while  generally  ignorant  of  their  source,  were  usually  impressed  by 
the  genius  whose  stamp  they  bore ;  and  the  residue  appear  to  have 
been  written  chiefly  in  obedience  to  that  law  which  declares  that 
"  genius  will  labor."  "  He  wrote  and  thought,"  said  one  of  the 
guides  and  exponents  of  the  best  public  opinion  in  Philadelphia,*  in 
speaking  of  Mr.  Wallace  after  his  death,  "  with  the  most  unselfish 
indifference  to  the  immediate  results  to  his  own  fame  or  fortune. 
To  a  limited  circle  of  his  personal  and  professional  friends,  and  of 
people  who  detected  his  unusual  intelligence  even  in  its  retirement, 
was  he  known :  and  it  was  only  after  his  death,  when  the  admiration 
of  these  was  expressed  along  with  their  grief,  that  the  public  at  large 
discovered  that  a  man  of  extraordinary  talents  had  been  born  and 
bred  among  them." 

The  "  Art,  Scenery  and  Philosophy,"  already  referred  to,  and 
the  volume  now  printed,  form  but  a  small  part  of  Mr.  Wallace's 
literary  productions.  Other  portions  of  them,  along  with  parts  of 
his  correspondence,  may  hereafter,  it  is  possible,  be  communicated 
to  the  public. 

PhiladelpJtia,  February  26t7i,  1856. 

*  "  The  Evening  Bulletin,"  November  25, 1854. 


LITEEAEY   CRITICISMS. 


THE  PROSE  WRITERS  OP  AMERICA  :  WITH  AN  INTRODUCTORY  SURVEY  OF  THE 
INTELLECTUAL  IIlSTORY,  CONDITION,  AND  PROSPECTS  OP  THE  COUNTRY: 
with  Portraits  from  Original  Pictures.  By  RUFUS  WILMOT  GRISWOLD.  * 
Second  edition. 

No  man  is  more  deserving  of  the  public  gratitude  than  he  who 
teaches  a  nation  to  respect  itself.  A  proper  confidence  in  one's 
own  standards,  in  one's  own  judgment,  and  in  one's  own  abilities, 
is  so  important  for  the  full  development  of  intellectual  capacity, 
and  social  dignity  and  happiness,  and  moral  power,  that  it  ought 
to  be  considered  a  duty  of  every  one  who  holds  the  place  of  a 
guide  or  teacher  to  implant  and  cultivate  it  in  the  subjects  of  his 
care,  whether  communities  or  individuals.  Personal  or  national 
vanity,  indeed,  may  become  even  bloated  upon  the  contempt  and 
ridicule  of  the  rest  of  the  world ;  but  an  honorable  self-depend 
ence,  a  manly  self-reliance,  can  be  inspired  only  by  contemplating, 
as  external,  the  monuments  of  one's  own  character  and  ability, 
or  by  seeing  that  others  regard  them  with  esteem  and  deference 
and  admiration.  For  either  purpose,  of  enabling  the  literary 
genius  of  the  country  to  know  itself,  objectively,  or  of  causing 
other  countries  to  receive  the  complete  impression  of  its  power, 
we  hold  such  efforts  as  have  been  made  by  Mr.  Griswold  to  be 
of  great  value.  He  has  done  a  useful  work,  and  he  has  done  it 
well.  The  book  now  before  us  is  more  than  respectable ;  it  is 

*  This  volume,  greatly  enlarged  and  improved  by  the  numerous  editions 
through  which  it  has  passed  since  the  present  notice  of  it  was  written,  now 
forms  part  of  a  series  of  works,  comprising,  with  it,  "  The  Poets  and  Poetry," 
and  "  The  Female  Poets  of  America,"  and  likely  to  do  honor  to  our  country, 
under  the  title  of  "  A  Survey  of  American  Literature." — ED. 

(3) 


LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [JErAT.  30. 

executed  ably,  and  in  many  parts  brilliantly.  In  some  respects 
it  is  an  extraordinary  work  ;  such  as  few  men  in  America,  per 
haps,  besides  its  author,  could  have  produced,  and  he  only  after 
years  of  sedulous  investigation,  and  under  many  advantages  of 
circumstance  or  accident.  He  has  long  shown  himself  to  be  of 
Cicero's  mind  :  "M-ihi  quidem  nulli  satis  eruditi  videntur,  qui- 
bus  nostra  ignota  sunt."  The  distribution  of  the  various  writers 
into  their  classes,  and  the  selection  of  representatives  of  each 
class  or  type,  exhibit  much  skill.  Many  passages  present  fine 
specimens  of  acute,  original  and  just  criticism,  eloquently  deliv 
ered.  We  differ  from  Mr.  Griswold  sometimes,  but  never  with 
out  a  respect  for  his  judgment,  and  never  without  feeling  that  we 
owe  it  to  the  public  in  all  cases  to  give  a  reason  why  we  do  not 
assent  to  the  conclusions  of  so  candid  and  discriminating  a  judge. 
We  acknowledge  Mr.  Griswold  to  be  a  good  critic ;  and  if  his  per 
sonal  friends  or  others  claim  for  him  the  title  of  a  writer  of  first- 
rate  merit,  we  make  no  other  hesitation  than  that  we  have  not  yet 
seen  quite  enough  of  original  matter  from  his  pen.  "  The  strength 
of  the  eagle,"  says  Mr.  Hallam,  "is  to  be  measured,  not  only  by 
the  height  of  his  place,  but  by  the  time  that  he  continues  on  the 
wing."  If  the  editor  of  "The  Prose  Writers"  will  produce  an 
entire  volume  on  some  continuous  subject,  in  the  same  style  of 
fearless  and  acute  discussion,  and  of  graceful  and  elegant  com 
position,  which  is  displayed  in  some  of  the  paragraphs  here — 
which  we  do  not  question  his  ability  to  do — we  shall  readily  ad 
mit  his  right  to  take  a  place  among  the  foremost  authors  of  the 
country.  The  present  volume  we  have  read  with  constant  inte 
rest  and  frequent  admiration.  We  have  derived  more  instruction 
from  it  than  it  would  be  becoming  in  a  reviewer  to  admit.  The 
reader  is  here  brought  for  a  time  into  society  with  the  greatest 
and  most  accomplished  of  the  minds  of  this  country  : 

"  Et  varias  audit  voces  fruiturque  deorum 
Colloquio." 

It  is  much  to  admit  that  we  pass  to  the  comments  of  the  author 
without  any  very  sensible  diminution  of  interest  or  respect. 
The  benefits  to  be  expected  from  a  compilation  like  this  arc 


.  30.]  THE  PROSE  WRITERS  OF  AMERICA.  g 

several.  In  the  first  place,  by  exhibiting  in  concentrated  bright 
ness,  "  the  ancestors'  fair  glory  gone  before,"  it  will  stimulate  the 
youthful  energy  of  the  day  to  more  earnest  action  in  this  great 
field  of  exertion  and  renown.  In  the  next  place,  it  will  tend  to 
ascertain  and  illustrate,  by  a  kind  of  induction,  more  reliable  than 
any  speculation  or  random  experiment,  the  natural  and  proper 
tone  and  character  of  American  literature.  We  wish,  as  perhaps 
all  wish,  and  we  believe,  as  certainly  many  do  not  believe,  that 
there  is,  or  is  to  be,  a  literature  peculiarly  and  distinctively 
American.  This  country  in  its  origin  was  little  else  than  a  con 
course  of  individual  persons,  aggregated  but  not  associated,  and 
of  companies  clustered  but  not  combined  ;  gradually  this  "  dust 
and  powder  of  individuality"  has  tended  to  an  organization  :  a 
definite  principle  of  social  life  has  been  evolved,  or  is  evolving  ; 
characteristics  of  a  national  existence  have  been  perceived,  and 
have  deepened  and  multiplied  as  time  has  gone  on.  In  every 
thing  the  dead-reckoning,  which  carried  forward  the  old  wisdom 
into  the  new  region,  has  failed  or  begun  to  fail,  and  new  observa 
tions  have  required  to  be  taken.  A  thousand  tokens  in  every 
thing  from  which  we  can  prognosticate,  make  it  manifest  that  a 
spirit,  indigenous  and  self-vital,  inhabits  our  country  ;  a  spirit  of 
power,  ipsa  suis  pollens  opibus.  If  all  this  be  so,  there  is  an 
end  of  the  question  about  a  national  literature ;  for  this  creative 
vigor,  breathing  and  burning  in  the  bosom  of  the  nation,  must 
find  an  issue  in  art  as  well  as  in  action.  The  flower  of  literature 
will  blow,  and  the  fruit  of  science  bloom,  upon  the  tree  of  national 
life,  as  surely  as  the  branches  and  leaves  of  business,  politics  or 
war  expand  and  strengthen.  It  is  then  of  the  first  consequence 
that  every  one  interested  in  associating  his  name  with  his  land's 
language,  should  apprehend  correctly  the  tendencies  of  the  literary 
spirit  of  the  country,  in  order  that  he  may  divine  the  nature  of 
that  literature  in  its  perfect  development ;  for  it  is  only  as  his 
productions  embody  and  represent  that  native  spirit  of  art,  that 
they  will  have  a  permanent  life.  He  must  look  backward,  and 
catch  a  prophecy  of  the  future  from  the  performances  of  the  past. 
He  must  Jisten  to  the  various  notes  that  have  been  struck  ;  ob 
serve  which  sound  falsely,  which  have  died  away  and  become  in- 
1* 


6  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [/ETAT.  30. 

audible,  and  which  rise  and  flow  and  swell  upon  the  ear,  the  true 
key-notes  of  the  symphony.  Of  one  thing,  however,  even  a  hasty 
glance  gives  us  a  gratifying  assurance  ;  that  of  whatever  nature 
or  quality  the  new  literature  may  be,  it  will  bear  no  resemblance 
to  the  productions  of  "Young  America;"  a  fraternity  young 
only  in  wisdom,  and  incapable  of  representing  any  thing  of 
America  but  its  vulgarity.  Following  the  order  of  Mr.  Gris- 
wold,  we  shall,  in  the  discursive  observations  which  we  propose, 
attempt  a  hasty  review  of  the  several  departments  in  which 
monuments  of  the  mental  vigor  of  America  remain  for  the  in 
struction  and  delight  of  mankind  :  beginning  with  her  statesmen 
and  orators. 

The  Congress  which,  having  vindicated  by  arms  those  prin 
ciples  of  liberty  that  are  constitutional  in  Anglo-Saxon  society, 
afterward  assembled  to  define  and  institute  them  in  abiding  forms 
of  legislation,  brought  together,  to  use  the  language  in  which 
Warburton  spoke  of  the  Long  Parliament,  "  the  greatest  set  of 
geniuses  for  government  that  ever  embarked  in  a  common  cause." 
And  to  this  day,  that  high  lineage  has  never  failed.  Political 
and  legal  ability,  in  fact,  seem  to  be  an  instinct  of  the  American 
people  ;  and  those  faculties,  implying  an  action,  present,  personal 
and  persuasive,  admit  of  scarcely  any  effective  literary  sortie  but 
in  oratory.  Accordingly,  the  eloquence  of  the  bar,  the  legisla 
tive  hall  and  the  popular  assembly  constitutes  the  most  charac 
teristic  display  of  American  intelligence,  and  of  itself  sustains 
our  pretension  to  take  a  rank  among  the  great  intellectual  nations 
of  the  world.  In  the  night  of  tyranny  the  eloquence  of  the  coun 
try  first  blazed  up,  like  the  lighted  signal-fires  of  a  distracted 
border,  to  startle  and  enlighten  the  community.  Every  where, 
as  the  news  of  this  or  that  fresh  invasion  of  liberty  and  right  was 
passed  on  through  the  land,  men  ran  together  and  called  upon 
some  speaker  to  address  them.  It  is  a  striking  evidence  of  the 
dignity  and  elevation  of  this  noble  gift,  that  at  seasons  demand 
ing  deep  wisdom,  and  varied  resources  of  suggestion  and  ex 
perience,  and  consummate  judgment,  oratory  was  the  most  com 
manding  influence  in  the  state,  and  that  it  was  then  more  splendid, 
more  finished,  more  truly  classical,  than  it  has  been  in  any  times 


/ETAT.  30.]  THE  PROSE  WRITERS  OF  AMERICA.  7 

of  less  excited  interest.  Eloquence  is  the  enthusiasm  of  reason, 
the  passion  of  the  mind ;  it  is  judgment  raised  into  transport, 
and  breathing  the  irresistible  ardors  of  sympathy.  It  contributed 
in  a  great  degree  to  the  adoption  of  the  Federal  constitution  ; 
and  never  let  it  be  forgotten,  that  when  the  same  perverse  and 
fatal  spirit,  against  which  the  constitution  in  its  infancy  had  pre 
vailed,  again  appeared  in  the  councils  of  the  nation,  inflamed  by 
interest  and  ambition,  and  at  once  insidious  and  domineering,  to 
betray  the  system  which  it  could  not  overthrow,  it  was  the  same 
divine  energy  that,  with  the  indignation  of  truth,  the  power  of 
argument,  and  a  torrent-rush  of  resistless  feeling,  swept  forth  to 
scatter  and  punish  the  foe.  The  eloquence  of  Hamilton,  spoken 
and  written,  did  much  to  establish  our  national  system,;  the 
eloquence  of  Webster  did  more  to  defend  and  save  it. 

"  Duo  fulmina  belli, 
Scipiadas,  cladem  Libyae  I" 

Looking  then  at  the  monuments  of  American  eloquence,  even 
with  the  severe  eye  of  scholars  and  critics,  there  is  cause  for 
satisfaction  and  a  just  pride.  There  is  Henry,  not  fulminating 
from  the  clouds,  like  Demosthenes,  to  terrify  men  into  sense  and 
virtue ;  not  sending  up  a  flash,  like  Cicero,  to  be  a  signal  to  dis 
tant  ages,  rather  than  a  fire  of  present  energy  ;  but  first  drawing 
his  hearers'  sympathies  to  him  by  a  delightful  conciliation,  and 
then  charging  them  with  the  fervor  of  his  own  bosom  ;  familiar, 
simple  and  near,  yet  intense,  vehement  and  thrilling  ;  converting 
his  hearers  first  into  friends,  and  then  animating  them  into  par 
tisans,  and  finally  hurrying  all  along  with  him  in  one  united  fel 
lowship  of  feeling  ;  not  surpassing  in  intellect,  rarely  analytical, 
never  ascending  to  the  illuminated  heights  of  abstract  wisdom ; 
but  setting  before  his  mind  usually  some  one  definite  object,  and 
piercing  it  through  and  through  by  the  shaft  of  a  sound  under 
standing,  pointed  by  an  honest  purpose,  and  driven  by  all  the 
force  of  devoted  passion.  There  is  Ames,  whose  speech  was  en 
chantment,  and  his  pen  a  subtler  magic  ;  possessed  by  nature  of 
"  the  delicacy  which  distinguishes  in  words  the  shades  of  senti 
ment,  the  grace  which  brings  them  to  the  soul  of  the  reader  with 


8  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [JETAT.  30. 

the  charm  of  novelty  united  to  clearness  ;"  whose  dignified  and 
pure  spirit,  apprehending  a  corrupt  triumph  as  the  most  fatal  of 
failures,  and  unprincipled  success  as  only  a  keener  disgrace, 
desponded,  not  because  it  did  not  see  justly  and  foresee  clearly, 
but  because  its  hopes  had  been  so  high  and  its  feeling  so  refined  ; 
as  the  common  air  would  cloud  and  sully  an  atmosphere  of  more 
essential  ether ;  who,  had  he  lived  to  see  what  we  see,  with  his 
quick  sensibilities  of  honor  and  his  far-reflective  sagacity,  instead 
of  recalling  one  of  his  gloomy  anticipations,  would  perhaps  have 
pointed  to  the  most  despairing  omens  of  his  eloquence,  and  have 
said  in  anguish :  "  This  day  is  this  scripture  fulfilled  in  your 
ears  1"  There  is  Otis  the  elder,  impetuous,  uncompromising, 
kindling  ;  Marshall,  who  could  vindicate  the  power  of  reason  in 
discussion  as  impressively  as  he  could  illustrate  its  dignity  in 
judgment ;  whose  only  surviving  oration  stands  like  the  cyclo- 
pean  structure  of  a  superior  race  ;  Rutledge,  Adams.  Coming 
down  to  later  times,  Quincy,  Stockton,  Wirt,  and  afterward 
Clay,  Calhoun,  Everett,  are  truly  orators  of  the  early  heroic  age 
of  our  statesmen,  the  jjpiOsot,  of  our  history.  Mr.  Griswold  has 
properly  chosen  Hamilton  as  the  principal  and  representative. 
He  closes  an  animated  survey  of  his  life  with  these  discrimina 
ting  remarks : 

"  In  every  page  of  the  works  of  Hamilton  we  discover  an  original,  vigorous 
and  practical  understanding,  informed  with  various  and  profound  knowledge. 
But  few  of  his  speeches  were  reported,  and  even  these  very  imperfectly ;  but 
we  have  traditions  of  his  eloquence,  which  represent  it  as  wonderfully  winning 
and  persuasive.  Indeed,  it  is  evident  from  its  known  effects  that  he  was  a 
debater  of  the  very  first  class.  He  thought  clearly  and  rapidly,  had  a  ready 
command  of  language,  and  addressed  himself  solely  to  the  reason.  He  never 
lost  his  self-command,  and  never  seemed  impatient;  but  from  the  bravery  of 
his  nature,  and  his  contempt  of  meanness  and  servility,  he  was  perhaps  some 
times  indiscreet.  His  works  were  written  hastily,  but  we  can  discover  in  them 
no  signs  of  immaturity  or  carelessness;  on  the  contrary,  they  are  hardly  ex 
celled  in  compactness,  clearness,  elegance,  and  purity  of  language." 

Mr.  Webster  is  properly  selected  as  the  representative  of  the 
best  sense  and  highest  wisdom  and  most  consummate  dignity  of 
the  politics  and  oratory -of  the  present  times.  With  elements  of 
reason,  definite,  absolute  and  emphatic ;  with  principles  settled, 


.  30.]  THE  PROSE  WRITERS  OF  AMERICA.  9 

strenuous,  deep  and  unchangeable  as  his  being ;  Webster's  wisdom 
is  yet  exquisitely  practical :  with  subtlest  sagacity  it  apprehends 
every  change  in  the  circumstances  in  which  it  is  to  act,  and  can  ac 
commodate  its  action  without  loss  of  vigor,  or  alteration  of  its 
general  purpose.  Its  theories  always  "  lean  and  hearken"  to  the 
actual.  By  a  sympathy  of  the  mind,  almost  transcendental  in  its 
delicacy,  its  speculations  are  attracted  into  a  parallelism  with  the 
logic  of  life  and  nature.  In  most  men  that  intellectual  suscepti 
bility  by  which  they  are  capable  of  being  reacted  upon  by  the 
outer  world,  and  having  their  principles  and  views  expanded, 
modified  or  quickened,  does  not  outlast  the  first  period  of  life ; 
from  that  time  they  remain  fixed,  rigid  in  their  policy,  temper, 
characteristics ;  if  a  new  phase  of  society  is  developed,  it  must 
find  its  exponent  in  other  men.  But  in  Webster  this  fresh  sug 
gestive  sensibility  of  the  judgment  has  been  carried  on  into  the 
matured  and  determined  wisdom  of  manhood.  His  perceptions, 
feelings,  reasonings,  tone,  are  always  up  to  the  level  of  the  hour, 
or  in  advance  of  it ;  sometimes  far,  very  far  in  advance,  as  in  the 
views  thrown  out  in  his  speech  at  Baltimore,  on  an  international 
commercial  system,  in  which  he  showed  that  he  then  foresaw  both 
the  fate  of  the  tariff  and  the  true  nature  of  free-trade.  No  man 
has  ever  been  able  to  say,  or  now  can  say,  that  he  is  before 
Webster.  The  youngest  men  in  the  nation  look  to  him,  not  as 
representing  the  past,  but  as  leading  in  the  future.  This  practi 
calness  and  readiness  of  adaptation  are  instinctive,  not  voluntary 
and  designed.  They  are  united  with  the  most  decided  prefer 
ence  for  certain  opinions  and  the  most  earnest  averseness  to 
others.  Nothing  could  be  less  like  Talleyrand's  system  of  wait 
ing  for  events.  He  has  never,  in  view  of  a  change  which  he  saw 
to  be  inevitable,  held  himself  in  reserve  and  uncommitted. 

What  Webster  is  at  any  time,  that  he  is  strenuously,  entirely, 
openly.  He  has  first  opposed,  with  every  energy  of  his  mind 
and  temper,  that  which,  when  it  has  actually  come,  he  is  ready 
to  accept  and  make  the  best  of.  He  never  surrenders  in  advance 
a  position  which  he  knows  will  be  carried ;  he  takes  his  place, 
and  delivers  battle  ;  he  fights  as  one  who  is  fighting  the  last  bat 
tle  of  his  country's  hopes  :  he  fires  the  last  shot.  When  the 


10  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [JExAT.  30. 

sinoke  and  tumult  are  cleared  off,  where  is  Webster  ?  Look 
around  for  the  nearest  rallying  point  which  the  view  presents  ; 
there  he  stands,  with  his  hand  upon  his  heart,  in  grim  compo 
sure  ;  calm,  dignified,  resolute ;  neither  disheartened  nor  sur 
prised  by  defeat.  "  Leaving  the  things  that  are  behind,"  is  now 
the  trumpet-sound  by  which  he  rallies  his  friends  to  a  new  con 
fidence,  a-id  stimulates  them  to  fresh  efforts.  It  is  obvious  that 
Webster,  when  contending  with  all  his  force  for  or  against  some 
particular  measure,  has  not  been  contemplating  the  probability 
of  being  compelled  to  oppose  or  defend  a  different  policy,  and 
so  choosing  his  words  warily,  in  reference  to  future  possibilities 
of  a  personal  kind  ;  yet  when  the  time  has  come  that  he  has  been 
obliged  to  fight  with  his  face  in  another  direction,  it  has  always 
been  found  that  no  one  principle  had  been  asserted,  no  one  senti 
ment  displayed,  incompatible  with  his  new  position.  This  union 
of  consistency  with  practicability  has  arisen  naturally  from  the 
extent  and  comprehensiveness  of  his  views,  from  the  breadth  and 
generality  with  which  the  analytical  power  of  his  understanding 
has  always  led  him  to  state  his  principles  and  define  his  positions. 
From  the  particular  scheme  or  special  maxim  which  his  party 
was  insisting  upon,  his  mind  rose  to  a  higher  and  more  general 
formula  of  truth. 

Owing  to  the  same  superior  penetration  and  reach  of  thought, 
the  gloom  of  successive  repulses  has  never  been  able  to  paralyze 
the  power  which  it  has  saddened.  The  constitution  has  been  so 
often  invaded  and  trampled  upon,  that  to  a  common  eye  it 
might  well  seem  to  have  lost  all  the  resentments  of  vitality.  But 
Webster  has  distinguished  between  the  constitution  and  its  ad 
ministration.  He  has  seen  that  the  constitution,  though  in  bond 
age,  is  not  killed  ;  that  the  channels  of  its  life-giving  wisdom  are 
stuffed  up  with  rubbish,  but  not  obliterated.  He  has  been 
determined  that  if  the  rulers  of  the  country  will  deny  the  truth, 
they  shall  not  debauch  it ;  if  they  depart  from  the  constitution, 
they  shall  not  deprave  it.  He  has  been  resolved,  that  when  this 
tyranny  of  corruption  shall  be  overpast,  and  the  constitution 
draws  again  its  own  free  breath  of  virtue,  truth  and  wisdom,  it 


.T:TAT.  30,]  THE  PROSE  WRITERS  OF  AMERICA.  H 

shall  be  found  perfect  of  limb  and  feature,  prepared  to  rise  like 
a  giant  refreshed  by  sleep. 

What  task  would  seem  more  barren  of  present  encouragement 
than  that  of  confuting  Mr.  Folk's  notion  of  the  unconstitution 
ally  of  "  The  Harbor  and  River  Bill  ?"  But  Mr.  Webster,  vividly 
alive  to  every  wound  or  even  sting  against  that  sacred  form  in 
whose  life  lives  all  the  promise  of  the  future,  takes  the  subject 
up  with  all  the  warmth  of  the  dearest  interest  of  his  thoughts,  and 
exhausts  the  power  of  his  logic  in  enlightening  the  honest  shop 
keepers  of  Philadelphia  on  a  subject  which  they  probably  cared 
for  as  little  as  they  understood ;  delivering  with  judicial  empha 
sis,  on  a  subject  of  great  importance,  that  which  posterity  will 
receive  ns  an  oracle  of  truth.  What  an  impressive  display  of 
public  duty  is  here  given  I  what  inherent  dignity  of  nature  is 
thus  attested  !  what  a  lesson  to  the  younger  men  of  the  country 
to  persist,  and  to  "  steer  up-hill- ward,"  and  never  to  compound  ! 
But  the  capacity  thus  to  be  loyal  to  dethroned  Truth ;  to  feel 
this  enthusiasm  of  reverence  for  Right  in  captivity,  belongs  to 
those  spirits  only  which  nature  has  touched  with  her  most  en 
nobling  influences.  The  mental  ability  to  be  thus  freshly  and 
earnestly  interested  in  each  new  scene  of  a  most  discouraging 
strife ;  to  rise  from  defeat  with  the  flushed  energy  of  triumph  ; 
shows  a  large  measure  of  the  divine  power  of  genius,  and  a  spirit, 
the  fountains  of  whose  being  are  copiously  refreshed  from  the 
eternal  sources  of  strength  and  hope. 

Mr.  Griswold,  we  suppose,  is  quite  right  in  suggesting  that 
the  only  name  in  modern  times  to  which  reference  can  with  any 
fitness  be  made  for  purposes  of  analogy  or  comparison  with 
Webster  is  that  of  Burke.  In  many  respects  there  is  a  corres 
pondence  between  their  characters ;  in  some  others  they  differ 
widely.  As  a  prophet  of  the  truth  of  political  morals,  as  a  re- 
vealer  of  those  essential  elements  in  the  constitution  of  life  upon 
which  or  of  which  society  is  constructed  and  government  evolved, 
Burke  had  no  peer.  In  that  department  he  rises  into  the  dis 
tance  and  grandeur  of  inspiration  ;  nee  mortale  sonans.  Nor 
do  we  doubt  that  the  Providence  of  God  had  raised  him  up  for 
purposes  of  public  safety  and  guidance,  any  more  than  we  doubt 


12  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [J3TAT.  30 

the  mission  of  Jeremiah  or  Elisha,  or  any  other  of  the  school  of 
the  Lord's  prophets.  But  leaving  Burke  unapproached  in  this 
region  of  the  nature  and  philosophy  of  government,  and  looking 
at  him,  in  his  general  career,  as  a  man  of  intellect  and  action,  we 
might  indicate  an  analogy  of  this  kind,  that  the  character,  tem 
per  and  reason  of  Burke  seem  to  be  almost  an  image  of  the 
English  constitution,  and  Webster's  of  the  American.  To  get 
the  key  to  Burke's  somewhat  irregular  and  startling  career,  it  is 
necessary  to  study  the  idea  of  the  old  whig  constitution  of  the 
English  monarchy  :  viewing  his  course  from  that  point  of  view, 
we  comprehend  his  almost  countenancing  and  encouraging  re 
bellion  in  the  case  of  the  American  colonies  ;  his  intense  hostility 
to  Warren  Hastings'  imperial  system ;  his  unchastized  earnest 
ness  in  opposition  to  French  maxims  in  the  decline  of  his  life. 
The  constitution  of  the  United  States,  that  most  wonderful  of 
the  structures  of  human  wisdom,  seems  to  be  not  only  the  home 
of  Webster's  affections  and  seat  of  his  proudest  hopes,  but  the 
very  type  of  his  understanding  and  fountain  of  his  intellectual 
strength  : 

"  hie  illius  arma; 

Hie  currus." 

The  genius  of  Burke,  like  the  one,  was  inexhaustible  in  re 
sources,  so  composite  and  so  averse  from  theory  as  to  appear 
incongruous,  but  justified  in  the  results ;  not  formal,  not  always 
entirely  perspicuous.  Webster's  mind,  like  the  other,  is  eminently 
logical,  reduced  into  principles,  orderly,  distinct,  re-connecting 
abstraction  with  convenience,  various  in  manifestation,  yet  per 
vaded  by  an  unity  of  character. 

Mr.  Webster  has  not  merely  illustrated  a  great  range  of  men 
tal  powers  and  accomplishments,  but  has  filled,  in  the  eye  of  the 
nation,  on  a  great  scale,  and  to  the  farthest  reach  of  their  ex 
igency,  a  diversity  of  intellectual  characters ;  while  the  manner 
in  which  Burke's  wisdom  displayed  itself  was  usually  the  same. 
We  cannot  suppose  that  Burke  could  have  been  a  great  lawyer. 
Webster  possesses  a  consummate  legal  judgment  and  prodigious 
powers  of  legal  logic,  and  is  felt  to  be  the  highest  authority  on 
a  great  question  of  law  in  this  country.  The  demonstrative 


.  30.]          THE  PROSE  WRITERS  OF  AMERICA.  13 

faculty ;  the  capacity  to  analyze  and  open  any  proposition  so  as 
to  identify  its  separate  elements  with  the  very  consciousness  of 
the  reader's  or  hearer's  mind  ;  this,  which  is  the  lawyer's  peculiar 
power,  had  not  been  particularly  developed  in  Burke,  but  exists 
in  Webster  in  greater  expansion  and  force  than  in  any  one  since 
Doctor  Johnson,  who,  it  always  appeared  to  us,  had  he  been 
educated  for  the  bar,  would  have  made  the  greatest  lawyer  that 
ever  led  the  decisions  of  Westminster  Hall.  We  should  hardly 
be  justified  in  saying  that  Burke  would  have  been  a  great  First 
Lord  of  the  Treasury.  Mr.  Webster,  as  Secretary  of  State, 
proved  himself  to  be  a  practical  statesman  of  the  highest,  finest, 
promptest  sagacity  and  foresight  that  this  or  any  nation  ever 
witnessed.  Who  now  doubts  the  surpassing  wisdom,  who  now 
but  reverences  the  exalted  patriotism,  of  the  advice  and  the  ex 
ample  which  he  gave,  but  gave  in  vain,  to  the  whig  party  at  the 
beginning  of  Mr.  Tyler's  administration  ?  His  official  corres 
pondence  would  be  lowered  by  a  comparison  with  any  state 
papers  since  the  secretaryship  of  John  Marshall.  Does  the 
public  generally  know  what  has  become  of  that  portentous  diffi 
culty  about  the  Right  of  Search,  upon  which  England  and  Ame 
rica,  five  years  ago,  were  on  the  point  of  being  "  lento  collisa 
duello  ?"  Mr.  Webster  settled  it  by  mere  force  of  mind :  he  dissi 
pated  the  question  by  seeing  through  it,  and  by  compelling  others 
to  see  a  fallacy  in  its  terms  which  before  had  imposed  upon  the  un 
derstandings  of  two  nations.  In  the  essential  and  universal  philo 
sophy  of  politics,  Webster  is  second  only  to  Burke.  After  Burke, 
there  is  no  statesman  whose  writings  might  be  read  with  greater 
advantage  by  foreign  nations,  or  would  have  been  studied  with 
so  much  respect  by  antiquity,  as  Webster's. 

In  a  merely  literary  point  of  view,  this  perhaps  may  be  said 
of  Mr.  Webster,  that  he  is  the  only  powerful  and  fervid  orator, 
since  the  glorious  days  of  Greece,  whose  style  is  so  disciplined 
that  any  of  his  great  public  harangues  might  be  used  as  models 
of  composition.  His  language  is  beautifully  pure,  and  his  com 
binations  of  it  exhibit  more  knowledge  of  the  genius,  spirit,  and 
classic  vigor  of  the  English  tongue,  than  it  has  entered  the  mind 
of  any  professor  of  rhetoric  to  apprehend.  As  the  most  impetu- 
2 


14  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [£!TAT.  30. 

ous  sweeps  of  passion  in  him  are  pervaded  and  informed  and 
guided  by  intellect,  so  the  most  earnest  struggles  of  intellect 
seem  to  be  calmed  and  made  gentle  in  their  vehemence,  by  a 
more  essential  rationality  of  taste.  That  imperious  mind,  which 
seems  fit  to  defy  the  universe,  is  ever  subordinate,  by  a  kind  of 
fascination,  to  the  perfect  law  of  grace.  In  the  highest  of  his 
intellectual  flights — and  who  can  follow  the  winged  rush  of  that 
eagle  mind  ? — in  the  widest  of  his  mental  ranges — and  who  shall 
measure  their  extent  ? — he  is  ever  moving  with  the  severest  toiie 
of  beauty.  No  one  would  think  of  saying  that  Mr  Webster's 
speeches  are  thrown  off  with  ease  and  cost  him  but  little  effort ; 
they  are  clearly  the  result  of  the  intensest  stress  of  mental  energy ; 
yet  the  manner  is  never  discomposed ;  the  decency  and  propriety 
of  the  display  never  interfered  with ;  he  is  always  greater  than 
his  genius  ;  you  see  "the  depth  but  not  the  tumult"  of  the  mind. 
Whether,  with  extended  arm,  he  strangles  the  "  reluctantes  dra- 
cones"  of  his  adversary,  or  with  every  faculty  called  home,  con 
centrates  the  light  and  heat  of  his  being  in  developing  into  prin 
ciples  those  great  sentiments  and  great  instincts  which  are  his 
inspiration ;  in  all,  the  orator  stands  forth  with  the  majesty  and 
chastened  grace  of  Pericles  himself.  In  the  fiercest  of  encounters 
with  the  deadliest  of  foes,  the  mind  which  is  enraged  is  never 
perturbed  ;  the  style  which  leaps  like  the  fire  of  heaven  is  never 
disordered.  As  in  Guide's  picture  of  St.  Michael  piercing  the 
dragon,  while  the  gnarled  muscles  of  the  arms  and  hands  attest 
the  utmost  strain  of  the  strength,  the  countenance  remains  placid, 
serene,  and  undisturbed.  In  this  great  quality  of  mental  dignity, 
Mr.  Webster's  speeches  have  become  more  and  more  eminent. 
The  glow  and  lustre  which  set  his  earlier  speeches  a-blaze  with 
splendor,  is  in  his  later  discourses  rarely  set  forth ;  but  they  have 
gained  more  in  the  increase  of  dignity  than  they  have  parted 
with  in  the  diminution  of  brilliancy.  We  regard  his  late  speech 
before  the  shop-keepers,  calling  themselves  merchants,  of  Phila 
delphia,  as  one  of  the  most  weighty  and  admirable  of  the  intel 
lectual  efforts  of  his  life.  The  range  of  profound  and  piercing 
wisdom ;  the  exquisite  and  faultless  taste ;  but,  above  all,  the 
august  and  indefectable  dignity,  that  are  illustrated  from  the 


.  30.]  THE  PROSE  WRITERS  OF  AMERICA.  15 

beginning  to  the  end  of  that  great  display  of  matured  and  finished 
strength,  leave  us  in  mingled  wonder  and  reverence.  There  is 
one  sentence  there  which  seems  to  us  almost  to  reach  the  intel 
lectual  sublime  ;  and  while  it  stirs  within  us  the  depths  of  sym 
pathy  and  admiration,  we  could  heartily  wish  that  the  young 
men  of  America  would  inhale  the  almost  supra-mortal  spirit 
which  it  breathes:  "I  would  not  with  any  idolatrous  admiration 
regard  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States,  nor  any  other 
work  of  man ;  but  this  side  of  idolatry,  I  hold  it  in  profound 
respect.  I  believe  that  no  human  working  on  such  a  subject,  no 
human  ability  exerted  for  such  an  end,  has  ever  produced  so  much 
happiness,  or  holds  out  now  to  so  many  millions  of  people  the 
prospect,  through  such  a  succession  of  ages  and  ages,  of  so  much 
happiness,  as  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States.  We  who 
are  here  for  one  generation,  for  a  single  life,  and  yet  in  our 
several  stations  and  relations  in  society  intrusted  in  some  degree 
with  its  protection  and  support,  what  duty  does  it  devolve,  what 
duty  does  it  not  devolve,  upon  us  1"  In  the  name  of  distant 
ages,  and  a  remote  posterity,  we  hail  the  author  of  this  and 
similar  orations,  as  Webster  the  Olympian. 

But  we  leave  a  subject  which  we  have  incidentally  touched, 
sincerely  disclaiming  any  attempt  to  estimate  the  character  or 
define  the  greatness  of  Webster.  In  reference  to  him  we  feel,  as 
Cicero  said  to  Cassar,  "Nil  vulgare  te  dignum  videri possit." 

First  among  the  great  theologians  of  the  country  must  be 
ranked  Jonathan  Edwards,  whose  sincerity,  courage  and  extra 
ordinary  skill  in  dialectics  have  commanded  the  admiration  of  all 
parties  for  nearly  a  century.  Robert  Hall,  in  one  of  his  bursts 
of  enthusiasm,  declares  him  the  "greatest  of  mankind;"  and 
Mackintosh,  the  range  and  profoundness  of  whose  studies  quali 
fied  him  to  judge  of  his  relation  to  the  other  masters  of  reason, 
does  not  scruple  to  say  that  "  in  power  of  subtle  argument  he 
was  unsurpassed  among  men."  Dugald  Stewart,  Hamilton, 
Chalmers,  and  indeed  nearly  all  the  leading  ethical  and  theolo 
gical  writers  of  the  old  world,  have  endorsed  these  opinions. 
The  "  Treatise  on  the  Will"  is  regarded  as  his  greatest  produc 
tion,  and  its  amazing  power  has  contributed  scarcely  more  than 


16  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [JETAT.  30. 

its  perfect  sincerity  and  conscientiousness  to  its  celebrity.  There 
is  no  trick  of  words,  no  subterfuge,  no  verbal  sophism,  no  petu 
lance  or  dogmatism,  in  his  argument.  He  reasons  of  "  fixed  fate, 
free-will,  foreknowledge  absolute,"  not  as  one  wishing  to  secure 
to  himself  a  triumph,  but  as  if  anxious  to  remove  all  stumbling- 
blocks  from  the  way  of  truth.  His  treatise  on  original  sin  was 
published  ninety  years  ago,  in  reply  to  Dr.  Taylor,  of  Norwich, 
the  leader  of  the  Arminians  of  that  day,  who  had  boasted  that 
his  own  book  on  this  subject  was  unanswerable,  but  was  com 
pelled  to  admit  that  no  rejoinder  could  be  made  to  the  American 
Calvinist.  "  The  grasp  of  his  antagonist  was  death,"  literally  ; 
for  he  died  of  mortification  at  his  defeat.  Mr.  Griswold  says  of 
Edwards  : 

"  Born  in  a  country  which  was  still  almost  a  wilderness  ;  educated  in  a  col 
lege  which  had  scarcely  a  local  habitation ;  settled,  a  large  part  of  his  life, 
over  a  church  upon  the  confines  of  civilization,  and  the  rest  o£-it  in  the  very 
midst  of  barbarism,  in  the  humble  but  honorable  occupation  of  a  missionary, 
he  owed  nothing  to  adventitious  circumstances.  With  a  fragile  body,  a  fine 
imagination,  and  a  spirit  the  most  gentle  that  ever  thrilled  in  the  presence  of 
the  beautiful,  he  seemed  of  all  men  the  least  fitted  for  the  great  conflict  in 
which  he  engaged.  But  He  who,  giving  to  Milton  the  Dorian  reed,  sent  out 
his  seraphim  to  enrich  him  with  utterance  and  knowledge,  with  fire  from  the 
same  altar  purified  the  lips  of  Edwards,  to  teach  that  'true  religion  consists  in 
holy  affections,'  the  spring  of  all  which  is  'a  love  of  divine  things  for  their 
own  beauty  and  sweetness.' " 

A  history  of  theological  opinions  in  America  would  have  no 
completeness  unless  it  included  the  names  of  the  younger  Edwards, 
Chauncey,  Mayhew,  Hopkins,  Bellamy,  Seabury,  Dwight,  and 
that  independent  and  shrewd  dogmatist,  Emmons,  "  the  last  of 
the  cocked  hats,"  who  died  recently,  after  a  conflict  of  nearly 
three-quarters  of  a  century  with  all  the  forms  of  opposition  to 
the  most  ultra  doctrines  of  Geneva.  These  giants  of  the  last  age 
have  been  succeeded,  in  many  places,  by  a  race  of  preachers  who 
present  to  us,  under  the  name  of  sermons,  discourses  on  moral 
subjects  which  have  been  handed  down  by  Cicero,  Seneca,  and 
"The  Spectator ;"  with  "little  more  of  the  Gospel  in  them  than 
is  to  be  found  in  the  heathen  philosophers."  Except  Edwards, 
Dwight  is  the  only  New  England  divine  of  the  Puritan  stock  to 


.  30.]  THE  PROSE  WRITERS  OF  AMERICA.  17 

whom  Mr.  Griswold  has  devoted  an  essay.  He  came  upon  the 
stage  while  the  smoke  of  the  great  battles  of  the  last  century- 
was  clearing  away  ;  and  though  a  Calviuist,  the  "  five  points" 
of  his  doctrine  were  so  rounded  off  that  he  suited  perfectly  his 
place  and  time.  His  writings  have  been  extremely  popular,  and 
he  was  an  orator  of  no  mean  reputation  ;  but  his  style  neverthe 
less  was  decidedly  bad.  He  never  learned  the  saying,  "  Apud 
oratorem  rero  nisiaUquid  cjfictiur,  redundat ;"  and  his  diffuse- 
ness  and  bad  taste  will  prevent  the  continuance  of  his  name  in 
the  select  list  in  which  it  has  been  written.  Yery  different  from 
the  celebrated  president  of  Yale  was  his  contemporary  Buck- 
uiinster,  who,  with  fit  opportunity  and  long  life,  would  have  carved 
his  name  in  enduring  letters  upon  his  age.  Of  the  character  and 
eloquence  of  this  youthful  divine  Mr.  Griswold  says  : 

"  With  a  face  remarkable  for  its  pure  intellectual  expression,  and  a  silvery 
voice,  the  tones  of  which  won  the  devout  attention  and  haunted  the  memories 
of  all  who  listened,  it  is  not  surprising  that  in  a  community  where  mental 
power  is  so  highly  appreciated  as  in  Boston,  the  weekly  addresses  of  the 
youthful  divine  attracted  large  and  enthusiastic  audiences.  His  manner  was 
artless  and  impressive,  and  there  was  something  about  the  whole  man  that 
irresistibly  fascinated  the  taste  at  the  same  time  that  it  inspired  respect  and 
love.  In  social  life  he  was  remarkable  for  his  urbane  spirit,  quick  intelli 
gence,  and  refined  wit.  He  was  the  centre  of  a  rare  circle  of  the  good  and 
cultivated,  and  his  death  fell  upon  the  hearts  of  his  numerous  friends  with  the 
solemn  pathos  of  a  deep  calamity.  To  the  readers  of  his  discourses  in  whose 
minds  they  lack  the  charm  of  personal  associations,  there  is  perhaps  a  coldness 
in  their  very  beauty.  Yet  few  sermons  equal  them  for  a  happy  blending  of 
good  sense  and  graceful  imagery.  Truth  is  enforced  with  a  simple  earnestness, 
and  pious  thoughts  are  clothed  in  language  strikingly  correct  and  impressive. 
One  of  the  most  characteristic  of  these  essays  is  the  one  on  "  The  Advantages 
of  Sickness."  It  was  composed  after  a  dangerous  illness  of  several  weeks.  On 
the  Sabbath  morning  when  Buckminster  was  to  reappear  before  the  anxious 
congregation,  at  an  early  hour,  before  rising,  he  called  for  the  necessary  mate 
rials,  and  wrote  the  entire  sermon  in  bed,  after  having  meditated  the  subject 
during  the  night.  The  bell  had  ceased  tolling  when  his  diminutive  figure  was 
seen  gliding  up  the  aisle  of  the  church,  thronged  with  expectant  faces.  He 
ascended  the  pulpit  stairs  with  feebie  steps,  and  went  through  the  preparatory 
exercises  in  a  suppressed  voice.  Still  weak  from  long  confinement,  as  he 
leaned  upon  the  desk  and  gave  out  his  theme,  every  ear  hung  upon  the 
cherished  accents.  The  effect  of  his  address  is  said  to  have  been  affecting  in 
the  highest  degree.  As  it  proceeded,  he  kindled  into  that  calm  and  earnest 
ardor  for  which  he  was  remarkable,  and  vindicated  the  benignity  and  the 
2* 


18  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  30. 

wisdom  of  the  heavenly  Father  who  had  so  recently  afflicted  him,  in  a  strain 
so  exalted  and  sincere  that  to  this  day  all  who  heard  him  dwell  with  en 
thusiasm  upon  the  scone." 

Of  the  living  lights  of  Andover,  New  Haven,  Hartford,  and 
Cambridge  ;  of  the  learned  and  accurate  Stuart ;  of  Bacon  and 
Bushnell,  with  their  light  but  shining  armor,  Jarvis  with  his  vast 
erudition,  and  Norton,  whose  exact  and  comprehensive  scholar 
ship,  clear,  compact  and  beautiful  style,  and  masterly  discussions 
of  the  evidences  and  genius  of  Christianity  are  fitly  applauded  by 
Mr.  Griswold,  our  limits  forbid  a  particular  characterization. 
Coming  from  New  England  into  New  York,  we  find  in  the  last 
generation  the  wise  and  pious  Hobart,  and  his  Presbyterian  con 
temporary,  Dr.  Mason,  who  deserves  to  be  classed  among  the 
most  eloquent  preachers  since  Bourdaloue  and  Massillon  en 
tranced  the  gay  world  of  Paris,  or  Barrow  and  Taylor  warmed 
and  invigorated  the  colder  hearts  and  minds  of  London.  It  is 
related  that  the  celebrated  Robert  Hall,  after  listening  to  a  ser 
mon  by  Mason,  while  the  American  orator  was  in  England, 
declared  that  his  "  occupation  was  gone;'7  he  could  never  hope 
to  approach  so  great  a  master ;  and  was  so  impressed  by  his 
superiority  that  he  could  not  be  prevailed  upon  for  nearly  two 
months  to  reenter  a  pulpit.  Mason  has  left  us  no  compositions 
to  sustain  his  great  reputation ;  but  we  know  that  his  mind  was 
thoroughly  furnished  with  the  best  learning ;  that  the  fulness  of 
his  mind  gave  him  his  powerful  and  fit  command  of  language ; 
justifying  the  words  of  Horace  : 

"cui  lecta  potcnter  erit  res, 

Nee  facundia  deseret  hunc,  nee  lucidus  ordo." 

Passing  from  the  theologians,  eminent  as  such,  to  those  who 
have  been  more  especially  distinguished  as  religious  moralists, 
we  meet  first  the  venerated  name  of  Dr.  Channing,  whom  we 
have  always  regarded  as  one  of  the  most  interesting  and  re 
markable  characters  that  this  nation  has  produced.  He  was  not 
distinguished  for  those  qualities  that  usually  confer  celebrity  in 
this  country ;  for  his  nature  was  in  fact  a  complete  antagonism 
to  all  the  characteristics  of  our  people  and  our  day.  In  all 


.  30.]  THE  PRO&E  WRITERS  OF  AMERICA.  19 

wherein  the  ordinary  great  of  these  times  are  strongest,  he  was 
nothing ;  and  that  which  constituted  the  mystery  of  his  undying 
influence,  was  what  the  popular  mind  was  little  able  to  analyze, 
however  quick  it  might  be  to  feel.  He  was  not  eminent  for 
keenness  of  intellectual  penetration,  for  closeness  of  logic,  dex 
terity  of  argument,  or  copious  strength  of  passionate  eloquence  : 
the  magic  of  his  power  consisted  in  the  exquisite  sensibility  of 
his  moral  apprehension,  in  his  subtlety  of  spiritual  perception,  in 
the  fineness  and  freedom  and  fervor  of  his  sympathies  with  nature 
and  man  and  truth.  His  greatness  was  in  an  unusual  way.  In 
meeting  him  in  society,  the  first  impression  undoubtedly  was  dis 
appointing.  Certainly,  he  was  not  great  after  the  same  fashion 
that  Webster  is.  Of  the  logical  analysis, — the  demonstrative 
power, — the  piercing  and  all-pervasive  ratiocination  that,  like  the 
formulas  of  the  higher  mathematics,  is  at  once  comprehensive  and 
exact, — which  Webster  has  in  such  prodigious  perfection, — Dr. 
Channing,  as  we  have  intimated,  possessed  little  or  nothing.  When 
for  the  first  time  you  "coped"  him,  to  use  the  Duke's  expression, — 
prepared,  of  course,  more  or  less,  for  that  re-active,  wrestling  vigor 
that  you  look  for  commonly,  from  a  strong  mind,  there  was  ab 
solutely  no  re-action  at  all ;  and  the  sort  of  shock  was  felt,  which 
one  experiences  when  he  has  braced  his  muscles  for  a  strenuous 
effort  and  finds  that  the  object  he  opposes,  offers  n-o  resistance 
whatever.  You  got  a  fall  It  was  not,  that  the  display  of 
mental  force  was  toned  down  by  a  peculiar  delicacy  of  taste  or 
an  unwonted  suavity  of  temper ;  the  mental  force,  nay,  even  the 
ability  to  understand  and  reply,  seemed  quite  to  be  wanting.  Of 
course,  the  visitor  had  no  mind  to  appreciate  what  proceeded 
from  one  who  appeared  to  have  no  sympathy  with  his  percep 
tions.  If  he  were  a  quick  and  confident  man,  he  went  hastily 
away  in  contempt ;  and  remained,  forever  after,  intolerant  of  the 
praises  of  so  unimpressive  a  companion.  But  if  he  chanced  to 
be  of  a  more  patient  and  inquiring  temper,  and  remained  to  ob 
serve  and  consider,  his  curiosity  was  soon  engaged  by  something 
altogether  unexpected  ;  and  out  of  his  first  disappointment  grew 
the  capacity  to  comprehend  those  qualities  which,  when  once 
comprehended,  were  sure  to  be  admired.  He  made  acquaintance 


20  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [JErAT.  30. 

with  a  character  wholly  new  and  singular,  in  whose  develop 
ments  he  soon  felt  himself  intimately  interested ;   a  character 
which  first  puzzled,  and  then  charmed.     He  beheld  mental  capa 
cities,  not  so  much  rare  in  order,  as  novel  in  kind ;   sentiment 
doing  the  work  of  understanding,  and  doing  it  with  infallible 
accuracy ;  feeling  made  rational,  and  reason  warmed  and-animated 
by  sensibility.     It  seemed  as  if,  a  DCS  Cartes  in  morals,  Dr. 
Channing  had  by  some  fundamental  conception,  reconciled  two 
faculties  and  two  domains,  before  separated  and  antagonist,  and 
had  reduced  affection  and  intellect  to  one  ;  originating,  in  effect, 
a  new  analysis.     So  simple,  quiet,  and  even  loose,  did  this  new 
method  seem, — so  little  of  the  old  geometrical  formality  had  it, 
that  you  might  doubt  its  power  and  efficacy ;  but  when  you  saw 
it  decomposing  with  ease  the  insoluble  problems  of  philosophy, 
developing  social  theorems  of  immense  application,  and  without 
any  failing  cases  at  all ;  and,  if  not  explicating  all  political  diffi 
culties,  at  least  turning  their  flank  and  taking  them  in  the  rear, 
and   thus   provisionally  determining   them, — then   your  doubt 
turned  into  wonder,  and  your  wonder  grew  to  confidence  and  the 
enthusiasm  of  admiration.     He  formed,  in  truth,  a  new  centre  of 
opinion  and  action  in  this  country ;  he  might  almost  be  said  to 
have  introduced  a  new  element  into  our  civilization,  and  to  fur 
nish  a  new  variety  of  character  in  our  history.     The  effects  of 
his  career  upon  American  society  will  never  cease  ;  and  whatever 
fresh  commotions  may  disturb  the  waters  of  life  among  us,  the 
gentle  wave  that  emanated  in  expanding  circles  from  the  sphere  of 
his  operations  will  be  reproduced  in  larger  and  broader  sweeps 
throughout  all  times,  and  that  agitation  will  be  for  the  healing 
of  the  nations. 

In  the  same  dignified  company,  a  high  place  is  justly  given  to 
Dr.  Wayland,  whose  vigor  and  originality  are  appreciated.  In 
regard  to  the  literary  characteristics  of  this  distinguished  writer, 
Mr.  Griswold  has  been  guilty  of  an  infelicity,  which  he  will 
probably  correct  in  a  new  edition ;  he  has  given  a  description 
that  is  applicable  only  to  Dr.  Wayland's  later  productions,  and 
added  specimens  from  his  early  works  which  are  marked  by 
qualities  of  a  very  different  kind. 


.  30.J  THE  PROSE  WRITERS  OF  AMERICA.  21 

Of  American  novelists,  the  earliest  that  attained  general  dis 
tinction  and  enjoys  a  still-living  reputation,  was  Charles  Brock- 
den  Brown.  In  some  of  his  characteristics  he  resembled  the 
school  of  Godwin;  in  some  qualities,  he  bore  the  stamp  of 
decided  originality  and  power.  His  narratives  exhibit  great  in 
genuity  of  mental  contrivance  ;  his  characters  are  analyzed  with 
a  morbid  acuteness ;  both  are  so  vivid  in  their  impression,  and 
so  connected  in  the  sequence  of  the  parts,  that  if  the  reader's  in 
terest  is  once  engaged,  it  is  held  by  a  kind  of  fascination  to  the 
end.  His  writings,  however,  want  relation  to  nature  and  ordinary 
life ;  they  lack  the  invigoration  of  human  sympathy,  and  the 
grace  of  familiar  and  domestic  sentiment.  They  look  like  won 
derful  pieces  of  mechanism  ;  they  excite  our  respect  and  wonder, 
but  do  not  attract  affection.  The  decorations  of  his  style  re 
semble  cast-iron  ornaments,  more  than  the  genuine  flowers  of 
imaginative  feeling. 

But  the  writer  who  in  this  department  has  risen  to  the  highest 
order  of  greatness,  and  in  a  style  of  narrative  entirely  his  own 
exhibited  the  fullest  luxuriance  of  creative  vigor  in  art,  is  Mr. 
Cooper.  With  all  that  is  impressive  and  splendid  and  peculiar 
in  the  condition  and  character  of  this  continent ;  with  the  prairie, 
the  solemn  forest,  the  lake,  the  wild  and  boundless  ocean ;  his 
genius  is  associated  in  enduring  connection.  The  influences 
which  in  the  silent  mighty  regions  of  the  west  act  upon  the 
character  of  man  till  they  inspire  it  insensibly  with  a  force  and 
sublimity  kindred  to  their  own  ;  the  enthusiasm  that  "  thrills  the 
wanderer  of  the  trackless  way"  of  waters ;  are  subjects  of  the 
first  magnitude  and  difficulty  in  romance ;  and  the  pen  of  Mr. 
Cooper  has  been  equal  to  them.  If  you  consider  the  variety  of 
subjects  over  which  his  fancy  has  cast  an  illustrative  ray,  and  the 
novelty  of  the  effects  which  he  has  accomplished  in  fiction  ;  if  you 
follow  him  through  the  long  range  of  characters  and  scenes  ;  the 
Indian,  the  revolutionary  soldier,  the  western  adventurer,  the 
sailor,  the  pirate,  and  many  others  ;  in  all  of  which  he  is  superior, 
and  in  some  of  which  he  is  supreme ;  it  will  be  acknowledged 
that  he  possesses  a  copiousness  and  energy  of  imagination  which 
few  in  any  day  have  exceeded.  Few  have  been  gifted  with  a 


22  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  30. 

larger  share  of  the  idealizing  faculty,  and  none  have  exercised  the 
faculty  with  more  exquisite  taste  and  judgment.  The  elevation  and 
lustre  of  romance  are  given  to  every  subject  which  his  narrative 
takes  up,  yet  the  impression  of  reality  is  always  preserved  undimin- 
ished.  The  truth  of  the  scene  is  always  closely  kept ;  the  character, 
effect  and  tone  of  nature  are  never  sacrificed.  He  never  indulges  in 
false  creations ;  he  never  resorts  to  distortion  from  a  want  of  strength 
to  render  the  simple  and  genuine  impressions.  Persons  and  in 
cidents  and  circumstances  are  described  with  minuteness  enough 
to  individualize  and  bring  them  vividly  before  us,  but  without 
that  painful  subtlety  of  characterization  and  description  which 
forget  that  they  are  addressed,  not  to  the  intellect,  but  to  the 
imagination  and  the  taste.  It  must  be  remembered,  too,  in  esti 
mating  the  creative  power  of  his  genius,  that  in  the  cases  in 
which  his  success  has  been  most  brilliant  he  was  not  dealing  with 
scenes  around  which  traditionary  narrative  had  thrown  a  roman 
tic  charm,  or  incidents  and  characters  that  national  feeling  had 
invested  with  a  sentiment  which  the  novelist  is  called  upon  merely 
to  render  and  not  to  impart ;  that  he  was  not  occupied  with  the 
"old  poetic  mountain,"  which  "inspiration  breathes  around," 
njor  with  the  valley  or  the  stream  on  which  the  shadows  of  the 
past  linger  and  sport,  but  with  regions  bare  of  association ;  with 
plains  and  hills  and  rivers  not  glittering  in  the  ray  of  any  noble 
recollection ;  with  characters  known  to  us  only  in  connection  with 
vulgar  or  repulsive  or  disgusting  accompaniments.  He  was 
called  upon  first  to  drive  away  the  atmosphere  of  familiarity  that 
surrounded  and  degraded  the  landscape,  and  then  to  breathe 
through  all  the  region,  from  his  own  resources  of  fancy  and  feel 
ing,  the  roseate  air  of  romance. 

Next  to  Mr.  Cooper,  in  the  walks  of  fiction,  and  in  the  power 
to  invest  familiar  narrative  with  ideal  grace  and  sentiment,  we 
are  disposed  to  place  the  authoress  of  "Hope  Leslie."  There 
is  a  charm  of  imaginative  purity  and  a  beauty  of  refined  thought- 
fulness  in  all  her  writings,  which  have  caused  us  to  read  them 
again  and  again  without  diminution  of  interest  or  admiration. 
When  woman  becomes  an  original  and  vigorous  author,  without 
ceasing  to  be  a  delicate  and  gentle  woman,  authorship  is  seen  in 


.  30.]  THE  PROSE  WRITERS  OF  AMERICA.  23 

its  most  delightful  lineaments.  We  are  glad  to  find  Mr.  Gris- 
wold  thus  appreciating  the  higher  part  of  a  character  in  which 
all  is  excellent  and  all  is  lovely  : 

"  Miss  Sedgewick  has  marked  individuality.  She  commands  as  much  re 
spect  by  her  virtues  as  she  does  admiration  by  her  talents.  Indeed,  the  rare 
endowments  of  her  mind  depend  in  an  unusual  degree  upon  the  moral  qualities 
with  which  they  are  united  for  their  value.  She  writes  with  a  higher  object 
than  merely  to  amuse.  Animated  by  a  cheerful  philosophy,  and  anxious  to 
pour  its  sunshine  into  every  place  where  there  is  lurking  care  or  suffering,  she 
selects  for  illustration  the  scenes  of  every-day  experience,  paints  them  with 
exact  fidelity,  and  seeks  to  diffuse  over  the  mind  a  delicious  serenity,  and  in  the 
heart  kind  feelings  and  sympathies,  and  wise  ambition  and  steady  hope.  A 
truly  American  spirit  pervades  her  works.  She  speaks  of  our  country  as  one 
"where  the  government  and  institutions  are  based  on  the  gospel  principle  of 
equal  rights  and  equal  privileges  to  all/'  and  denies  that  honor  and  shame  de 
pend  upon  condition.  She  is  the  champion  of  the  virtuous  poor,  and,  selecting 
her  heroes  and  heroines  from  humble  life,  does  not  deem  it  necessary  that  by 
tricks  upon  them  in  the  cradle  they  have  been  only  temporarily  banished  from 
a  patrician  caste  and  estate  to  which  they  were  born. 

"  Her  style  is  colloquial,  picturesque,  and  marked  by  a  facile  grace  which  is 
evidently  a  gift  of  nature.  Her  characters  are  nicely  drawn  and  delicately 
contrasted.  Her  Deborah  Lenox  has  remarkable  merit  as  a  creation  and  as 
an  impersonation,  and  it  is  perfectly  indigenous.  The  same  can  be  said  of 
several  others.  Miss  Sedgewick's  delineations  of  New  England  manners  are 
decidedly  the  best  that  have  appeared,  and  show  both  a  careful  study  and  a 
just  appreciation." 

We  are  happy  also  to  agree  with  the  present  editor  in  our  es 
timate  of  the  historical  novels  of  Dr.  Bird,  especially  the  novel 
of  "  Calavar ;"  but  Mr.  Griswold  has  not  observed  his  entire  and 
hopeless  inferiority  in  other  classes  of  fiction,  when  he  who  was 
dignified,  brilliant  and  classical,  becomes  commonplace,  tedious 
and  inelegant.  The  reason  of  the  difference  appears  to  be  that 
the  talent  of  the  author  lies  not  in  the  delineation  of  character, 
not  in  humor,  nor  in  narrative,  but  in  costume,  picturesque  im 
pression  and  dramatic  effect.  "  Calavar  and  The  Infidel," 
says  Mr.  Griswold,  in  his  introduction,  "  were  the  first  novels  of 
Dr.  Bird,  and  there  are  few  American  readers  who  need  to  be 
informed  of  their  character  or  desert ;  though,  as  their  accom 
plished  author  has  been  so  long  in  retirement,  the  inference  is 
reasonable  that  their  reception  was  equal  neither  to  their  merits 
nor  his  expectations.  Dr.  Bird  has  great  dramatic  power,  and 


24  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  30. 

has  shown  in  several  instances  considerable  ability  in  the  por 
traiture  of  character.  His  historical  romances  are  deserving  of 
that  title.  His  scenes  and  events  from  actual  life  are  presented 
with  graphic  force  and  an  unusual  fidelity.  He  had  the  rare 
merit  of  understanding  his  subjects  as  perfectly  as  it  was  possible 
to  do  so  by  the  most  persevering  and  intelligent  study  of  all 
accessible  authorities ;  and  in  the  works  I  have  mentioned  has 
written  in  an  elevated  and  effective  style." 

Of  Mr.  Kennedy,  the  author  of  "  Horse-Shoe  Robinson,"  etc., 
Mr.  Griswold  has  spoken  more  highly,  we  think,  than  an  un 
biassed  examination  of  his  writings  would  justify.  Of  Mr. 
Paulding  he  says  with  considerable  felicity  : 

"  Mr.  Paulding's  writings  are  distinguished  for  a  decided  nationality.  Ho 
has  had  no  respect  for  authority  unsupported  by  reason,  but  on  all  subjects  has 
thought  and  judged  for  himself.  He  has  defended  our  government  and  insti 
tutions,  and  has  imbodied  what  is  peculiar  in  our  manners  and  opinions.  There 
is  hardly  a  character  in  his  works  who  would  not  in  any  country  be  instantly 
recognized  as  an  Amei-ican.  He  is  unequalled  in  a  sort  of  quaint  and  whimsi 
cal  humor,  but  occasionally  falls  into  the  common  error  of  thinking  there  is 
humor  in  epithets,  and  these  are  sometimes  coarse  or  vulgar.  Humor  is  a 
quality  of  feeling  and  action,  and  like  any  sentiment  or  habit,  should  be  treated 
in  a  style  which  indicates  a  sympathy  with  it.  He  who  pauses  to  invent  its 
dress  will  usually  find  his  invention  exhausted  before  he  attempts  its  body.  He 
seems  generally  to  have  no  regular  schemes  and  premeditated  catastrophies. 
He  follows  the  lead  of  a  free  fancy,  and  writes  down  whaterer  comes  into  his 
mind.  He  creates  his  characters,  and  permits  circumstances  to  guide  their 
condu-ct.  Perhaps  the  effects  of  this  random  and  discursive  spirit  are  mare 
natural  than  those  of  a  strict  regard  to  unities.  It  is  a  higher  achievement  to 
maintain  an  interest  in  a  character  than  to  fasten  the  attention  to  a  plot." 

Mr.  Dana  may  be  considered  as  standing  at  the  head  of  the 
literary  men  of  New  England ;  and  as  being,  past  all  question, 
one  of  the  brightest,  purest  and  highest  intelligences  that  this 
land  has  yet  produced.  The  delicacy  of  his  mental  perceptions, 
the  strength  of  his  reflective  powers  and  the  richness  of  his  genius 
in  composition,  render  him  almost  unrivalled  in  the  high  field  of 
the  philosophy  of  criticism,  and  in  the  department  of  art  have 
made  him  especially  able  to  trace  with  a  learned  eye,  the  law  of 
that  mysterious  process  by  which,  as  in  the  case  of  Allston  and 
of  all  who  have  reached  the  heights  of  genius,  spiritual  sensibility 
passed  into  an  exalted  esthetic  power  under  the  animating 


.  30.]  THE   PROSE  WRITERS   OF  AMERICA.  25 

guidance  of  thoughtful  self-control.  In  regard  to  his  mental 
characteristics,  Mr.  Dana  may  be  called  the  American  Coleridge. 
There  is  the  same  union  of  the  keenest  intellectual  subtlety — the 
most  piercing  philosophical  analysis — with  the  wealth  and  glory 
of  practical  imagination.  Looking  at  life  and  nature  with  the 
same  blending  of  the  moralist's  with  the  artist's  view,  both  of 
these  remarkable  men  habitually  regarded  truth  as  the  beauty  of 
reason,  and  beauty  as  the  truth  of  taste.  As  in  the  case  of  Cole 
ridge,  Mr.  Dana's  views  and  discoveries  have  been  chiefly  com 
municated  in  conversation — by  living  action  upon  the  under 
standings  of  those  who  afterwards,  in  their  most  shining  displays, 
have  only  reflected  the  rays  of  his  intelligence.  Hence  his  public 
reputation,  great  as  it  is  and  always  was,  has  been  of  a  reflec 
tive  and  secondary  sort ;  that  is  to  say,  it  rested  not  so  much 
upon  any  actual  impression  which  the  public  had  received  from 
Mr.  Dana's  productions,  as  upon  the  testimony  of  an  intermedi 
ate  class  of  writers  and  students,  who  have  appreciated  his  merit 
and  propagated  his  fame.  He  has  been  more  the  author  of 
authors,  than  the  author  of  the  public.  The  greatness  of  such 
men  becomes  known,  as  the  ores  of  Mount  Truolus  were  dis 
covered,  from  the  golden  particles  that  were  borne  along  with 
the  current  that  passed  by. 

In  Mr.  Griswold's  estimate  of  the  characteristics  of  this  vene 
rated  gentleman,  there  is  just  perception  and  discrimination. 

"The  strength  of  Mr.  Dana  lies  very  much  in  the  union  of  sentiment  with 
imagination,  or  perhaps  in  an  ascendency  of  sentiment  over  his  other  facul 
ties.  It  is  this  which  makes  every  character  of  his  so  actual,  as  if  he  entered 
into  each  with  his  own  conscience,  and  in  himself  suffered  the  victories  over 
the  will,  and  the  remorse  which  follows  them.  There  are  beautiful  touches  of 
fancy  in  his  tales;  but,  as  in  his  poems,  the  fancy  is  inferior  and  subject  to  the 
imagination.  He  has  a  solemn  sense  of  the  grandeur  and  beauty  of  nature, 
and  his  descriptions,  sometimes  by  a  single  sentence,  have  remarkable  vivid 
ness  and  truth.  His  observations  on  society  are  particular  and  profound,  and 
he  brings  his  characters  before  us  with  singular  facility  and  distinctness,  and 
invests  them,  to  our  view,  with  the  dignity  and  destiny  of  immortal  beings. 
His  mind  is  earnest,  serious  and  benevolent,  delicately  susceptible  of  imprca 
sions  of  beauty,  and  apt  to  dwell  upon  the  ideal  and  spiritual.  Its  character 
istics  pervade  his  style,  which  is  pure  English,  and  has  a  certain  antique 
energy  about  it,  and  an  occasional  simple  but  deep  pathos,  .which  is  sure  to 
awaken  a  kindred  feeling  in  the  mind  of  the  reader." 

3 


26  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^ETAT.  30. 

Mr.  Griswold  has  scarcely  spoken  with  sufficient  distinctness 
and  emphasis  of  the  extraordinary  merit  of  Allston's  "Monaldi," 
as  a  work  of  fiction.  The  wonderful  mind  which  was  oftener 
and  so  perfectly  exhibited  by  the  pencil,  was  here  revealed,  not 
indeed  upon  a  great  scale,  but  with  entireness  of  moral  and  in 
tellectual  effect.  Indeed,  we  may  say  that  it  is  as  perfect  a 
picture  as  Mr.  Allston  ever  painted ;  for  the  genius  which  it 
displays,  though  employing  "the  instrument  of  words,"  is  essen 
tially  pictorial  in  its  character  and  impression.  "We  may  apply 
to  it  the  criticism  made  in  the  work  itself  of  a  picture  of  the 
crucifixion  by  an  old  artist :  "  Though  eccentric  and  somewhat 
capricious,  it  was  yet  full  of  powerful  expression,  and  marked  by 
a  vigor  of  execution  that  made  every  thing  around  it  look  like 
washed  drawings."  The  various  persons  of  the  tale  are  not  re 
vealed  to  us  by  an  illumination  seemingly  proceeding  from  the 
author's  mind,  but  flash  their  characteristics  upon  us  with  a 
vividness  which  almost  renders  us  uncomfortable  by  its  nearness 
and  force.  To  display  the  operation  of  the  passions  with  that 
intensity  and  clearness  which  his  plan  contemplated,  it  was 
necessary  to  represent  the  subjects  of  the  narrative  as  endowed 
with  sensibilities  very  greatly  more  susceptible  and  active  than 
ordinary  people  ;  yet  with  consummate  skill  these  characters  are 
held  firmly  to  nature  and  probability.  Nothing  is  morbid  or 
overwrought ;  but  all  healthful,  genuine  and  actual.  To  exhibit 
a  -series  of  telescopic  views  which,  though  greatly  magnified,  are 
never  indistinct,  and  which  first  studied  inseparate  particularly, 
are  afterward  reduced  to  a  common  centre  and  point  of  view,  is 
a  surprising  exhibition  of  genius  and  skill.  Indeed,  we  venture 
to  suggest,  that  scarcely  any  work  in  modern  times,  if  properly 
examined,  would  exhibit  the  resources  of  literary  art  more  won 
derfully  than  the  tale  of  "Monaldi." 

In  speaking  of  Mr.  Allston's  moral  nature,  we  ought  not  in 
fact  to  separate  his  literary  productions  from  the  revelations  of 
his  pencil.  Mr.  Griswold  appears  to  be  fully  conscious  of  this. 
The  opportunity  which  the  period  that  has  elapsed  since  All 
ston's  death,  has  afforded  of  weighing,  coolly  and  comparatively, 
the  opinions  formed  of  his  abilities  during  his  life,  has  confirmed 


.  30.]          THE   PROSE  WRITERS  OF  AMERICA.  2T 

the  impression  that  his  genius  was  superior,  not  only  to  aU  that 
has  appeared  in  this  country,  but  to  anything  that  can  be  found 
in  Europe,  until  you  get  back  to  the  great  immortal  names  of 
Italian  glory,  the  heroes  of  art,  the  half-divine.  No  man  ever 
had  juster,  deeper,  clearer  views  of  the  character  of  art,  and  the 
splendor  of  his  success  as  a  painter,  is  principally  due  to  the 
fidelity  with  which  he  worked  out  that  conception,  within  himself 
and  in  his  works.  He  understood  the  nature  of  art  as  it  exists, 
distinguished  from  a  transcription  of  the  real,  on  the  one  hand, 
and  from  a  metaphysical  idea  on  the  other.  He  had  appre 
hended,  with  a  profound  insight,  the  relation  which  a  spirit  and 
temper  of  art  bear  to  moral  virtue ;  the  fine,  but  vital  links,  by 
which  it  is  allied  to  all  that  is  good  and  all  that  is  lovely  in 
human  sentiment  and  human  conduct ;  he  felt  the  purity  of  its 
profession  and  the  dignity  of  its  practice.  Mr.  Griswold  in 
forms  us  that  a  memoir  of  the  life  of  Allston  is  now  in  the  course 
of  preparation  by  his  brother-in-law  Mr.  Dana,  We  hope  that 
this  statement  is  not  mistaken  nor  premature.  The  dissemina 
tion  of  views  like  Allston's  upon  art,  under  the  living  illustration 
of  a  career  so  beautifully  true  to  that  worship  of  excellence  in 
art,  to  which  early  love  had  deepened,  in  the  bosom  of  this  eleva 
ted  man,  would  be  of  inappreciable  value  at  this  time  in  its  in 
fluence  on  literary  and  pictorial  art  in  the  United  States,  and 
upon  the  characters  of  those  who  profess  it.  It  would  raise  and 
illumine  their  aspirations.  It  would  teach  them  what  to  desire, 
and  how  to  strive  for  it.  There  is  abundance  of  intellectual 
action  and  of  willing  energy  of  mind  in  this  country ;  but  it  is 
essentially  uninstructed  as  to  the  objects  of  its  interest,  and  the 
nature  of  the  service  which  it  professes.  It  has  not  been  told  of 
the  character  of  that  Unknown  God  whom  it  ignorantly  wor 
ships.  In  Allston  was  seen  the  true  artist ;  one  to  whom  the 
ineffable  beauty  had  been  revealed,  and  whose  soul  that  sight  had 
forever  rapt  and  consecrated ;  thenceforth  his  vowed  and  single 
purpose  was  to  reproduce  that  celestial  vision  in  forms  of  exist 
ence,  of  thought,  and  of  feeling — to  develop  the  infinite  from 
beneath  the  disguises  of  the  actual,  and  shed  around  the  things 
of  time  those  rays  which  are  a  lustre  of  eternity. 


28  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^BTAT.  30. 

We  have  here  alluded  to  the  close  connection  between  the 
forms  of  mental  and  moral  power  or  grace,  as  exhibited  by  the 
great  artist  and  the  great  writer.  The  subject  is  profoundly 
interesting.  It  has  so  presented  itself  to  Mr.  Griswold,  who, 
in  closing  his  preliminary  view  of  The  Intellectual  Condi 
tion  of  the  Country,  observes  that  the  relation  of  the  plastic 
arts  to  the  higher  forms  of  literature  is  so  immediate  that  "  the 
shortest  survey  of  our  intellectual  history  would  be  incomplete, 
without  some  reference  to  the  noble  works  of  our  painters  and 
sculptors."  He  accordingly  touches  in  outline,  though  effective, 
strokes,  the  history  of  the  higher  forms  of  American  Art,  as 
shown  in  the  productions  of  the  pencil  and  chisel.  The  topic 
may  be  commended  to  his  thoughts  for  future  essay  and 
enlargement  in  some  independent  form.  It  is  one  which  would 
grow  greatly  under  the  consideration,  and  form  a  fine  subject 
for  a  delicate  and  discriminating  pen.  It  is  a  superficial 
opinion  which  represents  art  as  subservient  only  to  the  delights 
of  the  senses,  or  the  diversion  and  amusement  of  the  vacant 
mind.  Its  truest  ministration,  as  we  have  remarked  in  speaking 
of  Mr.  Allston,  is  essentially  moral ;  and  of  the  subtlest  and 
most  intimate  operation.  The  highest  forms  of  art,  whether  in 
music,  painting,  or  architecture,  touch  sensibilities  of  our  nature 
that  are  reached  by  no  other  mortal  agency.  They  react  on 
our  inmost  sympathies,  in  which  they  become  melted  in  a  trans 
port  of  spiritual  fruition.  The  benefits  of  such  experiences,  in 
developing  and  educating  the  nature,  and  bringing  one  part  of 
our  being  acquainted  with  another,  are  highly  to  be  valued. 
There  are  those  whose  various  mental  qualities  seem  not  to  be  in 
a  state  of  communication,  and  in  whom  intellect,  sentiment,  con 
science,  passion,  seem  to  dwell  in  unconnected  chambers,  and 
move  in  separate  channels  !  This  is  an  imperfect  state  of  life — 
an  immature  condition  of  existence.  That  emotion  which  pro 
ceeds  from  an  intense  sympathetic  enjoyment,  is  the  natural 
provision  for  breaking  down  these  detaching  barriers,  opening 
clear  passages  from  one  department  of  the  soul  to  another,  and 
mingling  them  all  in  the  unity  of  a  combined  and  entire 
character.  The  affections  ordinarily  are  the  appropriate  solvent 


30.]  THE  PROSE  WRITERS  OF  AMERICA.  29 

for  the  crude  and  isolated  dements  of  the  individual  constitution. 
They  liquefy  the  rude  masses  of  consciousness,  precipitating  in 
dross  the  impure  combinations,  and  causing  the  essential  parts 
to  flow  forth  together  in  one  clear,  blended  stream  of  sensibility. 
But  it  is  not  every  one  who  has  the  happiness  to  be  subjected 
to  the  forges  of  affection ;  and  the  range  of  its  reactive  energy 
is  somewhat  low  and  limited.  Those  more  interior  and  abstract 
sympathies  which  fuse  only  at  a  very  high  point,  yield  to  nothing 
perfectly  but  the  appeals  of  that  power  which  dwells  in  con 
summate  art.  The  appreciation  and  enjoyment  of  art  is,  in  fact, 
but  an  action  of  affection  in  its  finest  and  most  transcendental 
phase ;  and  that  action  is  vivid  in  proportion  as  it  is  exquisite. 
It  flashes,  like  a  harmless  lightning,  from  point  to  point  of  our 
complex  nature — illuminates  depths  of  being  that  before  were 
unknown  to  ourselves — traces  with  rapid  certainty  the  tangled 
chain  of  mental  correspondences — interprets  between  opposite 
and  remote  regions  of  our  spirit  in  signals  of  light — and  kindles 
in  momentary  splendor  the  visionary  conflagration  of  inspired 
intelligence. 

Mr.  Griswold  does  well,  therefore,  in  speaking  as  he  does 
of  "  Greenough,  whose  majestic  Washington  sits  in  repose 
before  the  capitol;"  and  of  "Powers,  in  whom  Thorswalden  saw 
the  restorer  of  a  glory  to  the  marble  it  had  scarcely  known  since 
the  days  of  Praxiteles."  Such  men,  he  declares,  "promise  to 
make  our  country  a  resting-place  for  the  eyes  of  future  genera 
tions  as  they  travel  backward  toward  Rome  and  Athens." 
The  prospects  of  American  Art  in  its  ethnological  characteristics 
deserve,  as  Mr.  Griswold  truly  remarks,  a  large  consideration 
in  immediate  connection  with  its  letters.  Let  us,  therefore, 
profiting  by  the  hint  thus  given  us,  say  a  few  words  on  this 
subject. 

A  judicious  critic,  in  distinguishing  the  characteristics  of 
ancient  and  modern  Art,  has  referred  to  Sculpture  as  the  type 
of  the  former,  and  to  Painting  as  a  symbol  of  the  latter.  The 
illustration  is,  to  some  extent,  well  chosen.  Classic  art  is,  in 
its  nature  and  impression,  single,  definite,  substantial,  satisfying 
the  sense  :  Christian  art  is  complex,  vague,  ideal,  kindling  the 
3* 


30  LITERARY  CKITICTSMS.  [^ETAT.  30. 

imagination.  Form  is  the  clement  of  one  ;  effect  is  the  object 
of  the  other.  The  older  style  indicates  nothing  beyond  what  it 
exhibits  ;  the  latter  school  is  essentially  suggestive,  and  it  con 
ciliates  the  eye,  only  that  it  may  command  the  mind.  Natural 
emotion  is  therefore  the  region  of  the  former.  Moral  conception 
is  the  peculiar  province  of  the  other.  Modern  art,  throughout 
all  its  range,  addresses  the  reflective  powers ;  it  speaks  to  our 
spiritual  being ;  by  an  indirect,  but  sure  appeal,  it  wakes  to  an 
intense  sensibility,  remote,  undefined  and  slumbering  sympathies. 
It  might  of  course  be  looked  for,  that  the  ancients  and  the 
moderns  should  excel,  severally,  in  that  kind  of  production 
which  is  referred  to  as  the  representative  of  their  respective 
genius ;  and  so  indeed  we  find  it.  The  statuary  of  Greece 
stands  as  lonely,  as  lofty,  as  eternal  in  its  perfection,  as  the  stars 
of  heaven :  in  literature,  architecture  and  music,  the  emanations 
of  modern  intelligence  have  been  recognized  as  genuine,  dis 
tinctive  and  admirable  ;  but  in  sculpture,  Europe  has  never  risen 
above  a  cold  and  stiff  imitation  of  the  antique.  On  the  other 
hand,  painting  among  the  Athenians  seems  never  to  have  gone 
beyond  a  vivid  and  illusory  transcription  of  sensible  objects,  if 
we  may  credit  the  anecdote  of  the  curtain  and  the  fruit  in  the 
rivalry  of  Zeuxis  and  Parrhasius ;  it  probably  made  no  approach 
whatever  to  the  comprehensive,  sublime,  resistless  creations  of 
Angelo,  Raphael  and  Guido. 

The  question  whether  Art  is  likely  ever  to  be  enriched  by  a 
style  of  sculpture  essentially  modern,  resolves  itself,  then,  into 
an  inquiry  whether  the  marble  is  capable,  in  groups  or  in  single 
figures,  of  developing  an  interest  predominantly  moral.  In 
order  that  the  pure  influence  of  thought  or  feeling  should  be 
impressed  upon  the  mind,  through  the  medium  of  a  work  of  art, 
it  is  necessary  that  the  obtrusive  definiteness  of  form  should  be 
kept  back  from  view  :  the  Italian  painter  and  the  Gothic  archi 
tect,  accordingly,  conceals,  confuses,  and  shades  away  the  shapes 
he  is  dealing  with,  until  the  realizing  keenness  of  the  senses  is 
bewildered  and  fascinated,  and  the  mental  conception  which  lay 
insphered  within  the  work  is  poured  in  upon  the  spirit  in  unop 
posed  intensity.  The  sculptor's  difficulty  is,  that  he  has  no 


.  30.]  THE  PROSE  WRITERS  OF  AMERICA.  31 

element  to  operate  with  but  distinct  and  simple  form  ;  and  that 
form  the  human  figure.  The  sense  is  therefore  always  addressed ; 
the  idea  of  imitation  is  always  present.  If  the  mind  wanders 
away  for  a  moment  in  dreamy  apprehension  of  the  sentiment 
which  the  stone  appears  to  typify,  material  consciousness  quickly 
calls  it  back  to  trace  the  natural  beauties  of  the  limbs,  the  face, 
the  attitude.  In  order,  also,  that  the  scrutinizing  taste  of  the 
eye  may  never  be  offended,  these  last  must  be  perfect  in  their 
inherent  and  visible  grace  :  to  accomplish  this,  and  at  the  same 
time  to  charge  the  figure  with  a  glow  of  spiritual  significance, 
which  shall  eclipse  the  brightness  of  physical  perfection,  is  the 
profoundly  delicate  task  which  modern  sculpture  is  called  upon 
to  execute.  The  Greek  never  attempted  it :  satisfied  with  the 
merely  natural  elegance  of  his  Apollo  and  Yenus,  he  excluded 
from  their  faultlessness  every  conception  not  material  and  mortal. 
It  appears  to  us  that  in  recent  times,  this  fine  problem  of  crea 
tive  skill  has  found  an  abler  solution,  in  the  galleries  of  American 
genius,  than  in  those  of  any  country;  and  this  chiefly  in  two 
works,  which  Mr.  Griswold  selects  as  representatives  of  the 
national  power  in  this  department — Powers's  Greek  Slave,  and 
Greenough's  Washington.  Both  are  representations  of  real 
objects;  yet  in  both,  the  paramount  impression  is  ideal  and 
moral.  Both  exhibit  forms  of  surpassing  merit — one,  of  com 
manding  grandeur — the  other,  of  melting  grace :  but  in  both, 
all  sense  of  physical  proportions  is  merged  and  lost  in  mental 
sympathy  with  the  thought  that  radiates  from  the  image  with  a 
power  to  awe,  to  elevate  and  to  refine  the  mind.  Greenough's 
statue,  of  course,  is  not  intended  to  be  a  portrait  statue,  as 
Houdon's  is ;  in  which,  so  far  as  imitative  art  can  aid  the  imagi 
nation,  we  behold  the  Father  of  his  Country  "as  he  lived;"  but 
is  a  representation  of  the  historic  idea  of  Washington,  a  personal 
type  of  the  moral  grandeur  that  is  associated  with  that  concep 
tion.  It  is  designed  to  embody  in  a  form  of  appropriate  majesty 
the  impression  due  to  his  towering  and  awful  superiority  above 
ordinary  men.  Borrowing  the  antique  conception  of  the  divine, 
the  figure  is  colossal;  the  attitude  and  expression  those  of  a 
god.  In  its  sublime  entirety,  it  sots  before  the  eye  such  an 


32  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  30. 

image  as  posterity  will  call  up  to  its  mind  when  it  thinks  of  the 
mighty  and  unapproached  career  of  Washington.  In  approach 
ing  the  delicate  creation  of  chaste  imagination  which  Mr.  Powers 
gives  us  in  his  Greek  Slave,  after  the  first  shock  of  delight  from 
the  gentle  rush  of  her  beauty,  wave-like,  upon  the  spirit,  is  past, 
we  are  arrested  and  enchained  by  the  profound  and  lofty  interest 
of  her  countenance.  The  conception  is  as  exalted,  as  the  exe 
cution  of  it  is  exquisite.  It  is  an  expression  of  offended  dignity 
• — of  expostulating  rebuke — of  placid  and  pitying  contempt. 
Confident  in  an  unassailable  moral  safety- — feeling  that  no 
material  subjugation  or  injury  can  ever  harm  the  soul — she 
stands  in  the  pride  of  her  unapproachable  purity ;  insulted,  but 
not  abased — outraged,  but  not  degraded.  There  is  no  touch 
of  shame  in  her  features ;  she  feels  that  she  is  not  responsible  for 
the  condition  in  which  she  is  placed :  an  instinctive  gesture  of 
self-protection — an  involuntary  averting  of  the  head  from  the 
spectacle  of  the  wrong  that  is  done  her  by  such  exposure- — are 
tributes  to  the  natural  delicacy  of  her  character.  There  is  no 
shade  of  fear  in  her  attitude ;  her  whole  being,  absorbed  into 
intense  consciousness  of  an  impregnable  spiritual  existence, 
dwells  in  serene  composure  upon  the  calm  heights  of  a  more 
intimate  and  essential  life.  Never  was  the  native  majesty  of  the 
chaste,  refined,  and  high-toned  soul  of  a  woman,  embodied  in 
nobler  force  and  more  enchanting  grace.  Never  was  it  more 
admirably  shown,  with  what  energetic  sincerity  virtue  can  look 
down  upon  her  oppressors,  and  chastise  their  un worthiness :  never 
was  the  contrast  between  humiliating  circumstances  and  a  mental 
elevation  more  gloriously  flashed  forth.  Over  those  who  are 
disgracing  themselves  by  this  treatment  of  a  woman,  she  seems 
to  feel  such  infinite  superiority,  that  reflection  interposes  to 
temper  its  excess  by  some  infusion  of  compassion.  Her  look 
reproaches  them  for  exhibiting  conduct  so  ineffably  dishonoring 
to  them.  She  appears  to  blush  for  the  degradation  of  her  race, 
by  the  display  of  a  behavior  so  discreditable  to  men.  What,  in 
a  critical  point  of  view,  we  chiefly  admire,  is  the  moderation 
which  the  sculptor  has  imposed  upon  himself  in  the  material 
working  out  of  this  conception. — the  exquisite  temperance  which 


30.]  THE  THOSE  WRITERS  OF  AMERICA.  33 

he  has  observed  in  the  degree  in  which  a  temporary  feeling  is 
allowed  to  prevail  over  the  native  and  habitual  repose  of  the 
features.  Fixing  the  expression  unmistakably  upon  the  counte 
nance,  he  has  with  consummate  taste  abstained  from  interrupting 
the  serene  beauty  of  loveliness  and  grace,  further  than  to  waken 
in  the  observer  a  train  of  emotion  which  no  heart  can  fail  to 
carry  out  to  its  full  result.  Such  is  the  impression  which  this 
divine  emanation  of  the  artist's  power  gives  to  us.  It  is  well 
called  the  Greek  Slave,  for  it  is  the  bondage  of  that  ethereal 
essence  whose  incarnation  is  identified  with  Attica;  it  is  an 
everlasting  vindication  of  that  supremacy  of  mind  over  condition 
which  Greece  first  taught,  and  Grecian  fame  forever  attests. 

But  we  return  from  this  digression  upon  American  Art,  which 
the  name  of  Allston — great  both  in  letters  and  in  Art — and  the 
close  connection  pointed  out  by  Mr  Griswold,  between  letters 
and  the  expressions  of  high  art,  have  naturally  inspired. 

Of  Hawthorne,  an  old  and  favorite  correspondent  of  the 
Knickerbocker  Magazine,  appropriate  specimens  are  given,  and 
his  manner  is  happily  illustrated. 

Fay,  Miss  Leslie,  Simms,  Neal,  Hall,  and  others,  pass  in  re 
view  before  the  author,  and  receive  each  a  measure  of  commen 
dation. 

In  passing  from  the  writers  of  fiction  to  the  historians  and 
essayists,  we  are  detained  by  the  name  of  Mr.  Irving,  which, 
shedding  an  equal  lustre  over  all  these  departments,  receives 
from  all  of  them  an  equal  reflection  of  honor ;  "  focus  at  once  of 
all  the  rays  of  Fame."  This  eminent  person  ought  ever  to  be 
followed  by  the  respect  and  gratitude  of  his  countrymen ;  for 
he  was  the  first  who  led  American  literature  to  the  sympathies 
of  the  English  people,  and  conciliated  or  commanded  the  defer 
ence  and  applause  of  literary  factions  in  that  country,  who,  rivals 
in  every  thing,  seemed  especially  to  vie  with  each  other  in  con 
tempt  for  America.  No  man  ever  succeeded  so  perfectly  in  ren 
dering  literature  delicious.  Elevated,  pure,  of  pervading  refine 
ment  and  chastity,  his  writings  give  us  a  pleasure  which  is  almost 
sensuous,  in  its  fulness  and  directness.  Without  apparent  arts, 
without  affectation  or  tricks,  they  fascinate,  enchant,  bewitch  us. 


34  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  30. 


Subduing  our  affections,  and  reigning  over  them  with  an  "abso 
lute  power,  they  always  command  the  respect  -of  our  taste,  and 
receive  the  approbation  of  our  judgment.  The  charm  is  obviously 
not  the  result  of  an  assumed  manner,  an  acquired  style,  or  a  con 
trived  dress  ;  but  springs  from  a  source  in  nature,  and  emanates 
from  instinctive  and  essential  gracefulness  of  temper  and  spirit 
and  feeling  : 

"Ilium  quidquid  agit  quoquo  vestigia  movit, 
Componit  furtim  subsequiturque  Decor." 

The  richness  and  delicacy  of  his  fancy,  the  ethereal  flow  of  his 
humor,  which  like  the  dew  of  summer  refreshes  and  brightens 
every  flower  and  leaf  and  branch;  the  constant  and  quiet  good 
sense  ;  the  playfulness  of  temper  which  never  betrays  from  deco 
rum,  and  never  beguiles  from  seriousness  of  purpose  ;  the 
familiarity  mingled  with  native  reserve  ;  the  inborn  elegance  of 
mind  which  renders  gayety  dignified,  and  gives  attraction  to 
grief  and  sadness,  and  throws  an  atmosphere  of  interest  around 
occasions  the  most  barren  ;  all  these  combine  to  form  a  talent 
for  agreeable  writing,  which  in  extent  and  quality  perhaps  has 
never  been  exceeded.  Through  how  wide  a  range,  also,  have 
these  admirable  resources  of  imagination  and  taste  been  exhibited 
in  unfailing  brilliance  I  With  surprising  versatility  of  character, 
this  exquisite  genius  first  yields  to  the  spirit  of  the  subject  or 
scene,  and  then  glorifies  it  with  the  illumination  of  its  own  glow 
ing  life.  It  becomes  grotesque,  and  revels  quaintly  amid  the 
burgomasters  of  New  Amsterdam  ;  in  the  scenes  of  Moresco 
chivalry,  it  assumes  the  forms  and  colors  of  imaginative  passion  : 
at  once  gorgeous  and  delicate,  and  so  perfectly  as  to  become 
almost  the  express  image  of  Saracenic  character  and  art  ;  in  the 
lanes  and  parks  of  the  merry  England,  it  becomes  simple,  decent, 
homely;  in  all  its  tone  and  temper  and  intelligence,  more 
English  than  England  itself;  a  Chaucer  in  prose  ;  in  the  daring, 
dashing  life  of  the  west,  who  throws  himself  into  the  abandon  of 
adventure  with  more  genial  earnestness  than  the  Tourist  of  the 
Prairies  ? 

In  another  sphere,  this  frolic  spirit  can  assume,  with  native 


30.]  THE   PROSE  WRITERS  OF  AMERICA.  35 

majesty,  the  buskined  tread  of  the  historian.  Not  only  can  he 
do  justice  to  every  subject,  however  peculiar  or  difficult,  which 
is  given  to  him,  but  he  can  write  delightfully  when  he  has  no 
subject  at  all.  "  Astoria"  has  always  seemed  to  us  to  be  the 
triumph  of  his  skill ;  for  the  subject  there,  if  not  nothing,  was 
certainly  worse  than  nothing.  For  purposes  of  romantic  art  and 
elegant  literature,  what  theme  could  be  more  jejune  and  imprac 
ticable  than  the  journal  of  a  trading  voyage  to  the  Pacific,  and 
a  trading  journey  across  the  Rocky  Mountains,  by  persons  whose 
characters  and  objects  and  adventures  had  scarcely  a  ray  of 
dignity  or  interest  ?  Yet,  by  mere  power  of  style,  and  mere 
grace  of  manner  and  embellishment,  he  has  made  the  narrative 
as  delightful  as  a  tale  of  genii,  and  transformed  the  desert  into  a 
garden  of  foiry  loveliness.  Mr.  Irving  in  fact  possesses  that 
natural  fertility  of  sentiment,  that  delicate  observation  and  selec 
tion,  that  truth  of  judgment  and  gentle  animation,  which  supplied 
in  Goldsmith  the  want  of  almost  every  qualification,  and  consti 
tute  a  faculty  of  which  it  is  correctly  said  that,  "  Nullum  quod 
tetigit  non  ornavit." 

Among  American  historians,  we  are  glad  to  find  that  Mr. 
Griswold  appreciates  the  supremacy  of  Prescott  : 

•'•  Mr.  Prescott  is  undoubtedly  entitled  to  a  prominent  place  in  the  first  rank 
of  historians.  With  extraordinary  industry  he  explores  every  source  of  infor 
mation  relating  to  his  subjects,  and  with  sagacity  as  remarkable  decides  be 
tween  conflicting  authorities  and  rejects  improbable  relations.  His  judgment 
of  character  is  calm,  comprehensive,  and  profoundly  just.  He  enters  into  the 
midst  of  an  age,  and  with  all  its  influences  about  him,  estimates  its  actors  and 
its  deeds.  His  arrangement  of  facts  is  always  effective,  and  his  style  flowing, 
familiar,  singularly  transparent,  and  marked  throughout  with  the  most  felici 
tous  expressions. 

••  Whatever  may  be  the  comparative  merits  of  the  two  great  histories  he  has 
already  published,  as  intellectual  efforts,  there  is  little  room  to  doubt  that  '  The 
Conquest  of  Mexico'  will  continue  to  be  the  most  popular.  It  is  justly  re 
marked  in  the  Edinburgh  Review,  that,  considered  merely  as  a  work  of  amuse 
ment,  it  will  bear  a  favorable  comparison  with  the  best  romances  in  the  lan 
guage.  The  careful,  judicious,  and  comprehensive  essay  on  the  Aztec  civili 
zation,  with  which  it  opens,  is  not  inferior  in  interest  to  the  wonderful  drama 
to  which  it  is  an  epilogue.  The  scenery,  which  is  sketched  with  remarkable 
vividness  and  accuracy,  is  wonderful,  beautiful,  and  peculiar.  The  characters 
are  various,  strongly  marked,  and  not  more  numerous  than  is  necessary  for  the 


36  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  30. 

purposes  of  art.  Cortez  himself  is  a  knight  errant,  '  filled  with  the  spirit  of 
romantic  enterprise/  yet  a  skilful  general,  fruitful  of  resources,  and  of  almost 
superhuman  energies  ;  of  extraordinary  cunning,  but  without  any  rectitude  of 
judgment;  a  bigoted  churchman,  yet  having  no  sympathy  with  virtue;  of 
kind  manners,  but  remorseless  in  his  cruelties.  His  associates,  Valasque/, 
Ordaz,  Sandoval,  Alvarado,  the  priest  Olmedo,  the  heroine  Dona  Marina,  and 
others  of  whom  we  have  glimpses  more  or  less  distinct,  seem  to  have  been 
formed  as  well  to  fill  their  places  in  the  written  history,  as  to  act  their  parts  in 
the  crusade.  And  the  philosophical  king  of  Tezcuco,  and  Montezuma,  whose 
character  and  misfortunes  are  reflected  in  his  mild  and  melancholy  face,  and 
Guaternozin,  the  last  of  the  emperors,  and  other  Aztecs,  in  many  of  the  higher 
qualities  of  civilization  superior  to  their  invaders,  and  inferior  in  scarcely  any 
thing  but  a  knowledge  of  the  art  of  war,  are  grouped  and  contrasted  most 
effectively  with  such  characters  as  are  more  familiar  in  the  scenes  of  history.  .  . 
Mr.  Prescott  perhaps  excels  most  in  description  and  narration,  but  his  histories 
combine  in  a  high  degree  almost  every  merit  that  can  belong  to  such  works. 
They  are  pervaded  by  a  truly  and  profoundly  philosophical  spirit,  the  more 
deserving  of  recognition  because  it  is  natural  and  unobtrusive,  and  are  dis 
tinguished  above  all  others  for  their  uniform  candor,  a  quality  which  might 
reasonably  be  demanded  of  an  American  writing  of  early  European  policy  and 
adventure." 

We  do  not,  however,  agree  with  Mr.  Griswold  in  considering 
Mr.  Bancroft's  history  as  "one  of  the  great  works  of  the  age." 
Transcendentalism,  so  long  as  it  keeps  itself  in  the  cloudy  regions 
of  metaphysics  and  moral  sentiments,  may  escape  confutation  or 
exposure  ;  you  cannot  prove  its  worthlessness,  because  you  can 
not  bring  it  to  any  absolute  and  settled  test.  But  when  it  comes 
down  into  the  terra  firma  of  actual  life  and  historical  reality, 
and  gives  its  views  of  national  interests,  and  traces  the  connec 
tions  of  human  events,  and  enables  us  to  see  it  against  a  back 
ground  of  experience,  we  then  discover  the  shadowy  vanity  of 
the  imposture  ;  for  these  are  matters  with  which  sense  and  reason 
and  logic,  only  can  properly  deal.  "  Qui  Bavium  non  odit,"  etc. ; 
he  who  can  understand  Mr.  Emerson,  may  value  Mr.  Bancroft. 
But  a  man  of  merely  common  sense  may  read  the  three  volumes 
of  "  The  History  of  the  United  States,'7  and  he  will  find  at  the  end 
of  his  lessons  that  he  has  not  acquired  one  clear,  definite  notion  ; 
one  distinct  apprehension  of  fact  or  thought.  A  series  of  dreamy 
forms  has  passed  before  his  mind ;  a  procession  of  vaporous 
images  has  beguiled  his  attention ;  but  they  came  like  shadows, 


.  30.]  THE   PROSE  WRITERS  OF  AMERICA.  of 

and  so  they  have  departed ;  leaving  no  impression,  and  no  bene 
fit  behind  them.  The  understanding  of  the  reader  is  neither 
enriched,  nor  informed,  nor  quickened. 

In  that  class  of  essayists,  and  authors  of  fugitive  pieces,  who 
are  conveniently  designated  as  miscellaneous  writers,  Mr.  Poe 
deserves  a  place.  Narratives  which  rivet  the  interest,  and  sway 
the  passions  as  powerfully  as  his  do,  indicate  a  vigor  of  imagi 
nation  that  might  send  its  productions  forward  far  along  the 
line  of  future  life.  Many  of  his  tales,  we  have  no  doubt,  will 
long  survive,  as  among  the  ablest  and  most  remarkable  of 
American  productions.  In  the  perfect  contrivance  of  the  plans, 
which,  though  complex,  are  never  embarrassing  or  perplexing, 
and  in  the  orderly  evolveinent  of  all  the  incidents,  they  bear  a 
resemblance  to  the  dramatic  plots  of  Ben  Jonson,  which,  ^  of 
themselves,  without  reference  to  the  treasures  which  they  wrap  up 
in  them,  have  been  considered  as  giving  him  a  very  eminent 
rank.  Of  talents  such  as  Mr.  Poe  is  blessed  with,  the  true 
employment  is  in  original  composition ;  in  a  genial  exercise  of 
the  creative  faculties  of  imagination  and  feeling,  in  extending 
through  a  space  which  is  else  void  and  silent,  the  limits  of  the 
region  of  living  and  lovely  forms,  and  augmenting  the  trophies 
of  the  genius  of  his  nation  and  his  race.  To  one  who  possesses 
the  powers  of  close,  logical  reasoning,  and  of  pointed  and 
piercing  sarcasm,  the  "torva  voluptas"  of  literary  and  social 
controversy  is  often  a  fatal  fascination.  But  a  man  who  is 
conscious  within  himself  of  faculties  which  indicate  to  him  that 
he  was  born,  not  to  wrangle  with  the  men  of  his  own  times,  but 
to  speak  truth  and  peace  to  distant  ages  and  a  remote  pos 
terity,  ought  to  make  a  covenant  with  himself,  that  he  will  be 
drawn  aside  by  no  temptation,  however  vehement,  from  that 
calm  dedication  of  his  thoughts  to  literary  art,  which  is  the 
service  he  owes  to  that  Spirit  which  has  given  him  power  to 
become  one  of  its  ministers. 

As  an  analytical  critic,   Mr.   Poe  possesses  abilities  quite 

unrivalled  in  this  country,  and  perhaps  on  either  side  of  the 

water.     We  have  scarcely  ever  taken  up  one  of  his  more  careful 

critical  papers,  on  some  author  or  work  worthy  of  his  strength, 

4 


38  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [JExAT.  30. 

without  a  sense  of  surprise  at  the  novel  and  profound  views  from 
which  his  inquiries  began,  nor  followed  their  development  with 
out  the  closest  interest,  nor  laid  the  essay  down  without  admira 
tion  and  respect  for  the  masculine  and  acute  understanding  with 
which  we  had  coped  during  the  perusal.  But  in  the  case  of 
inventive  genius  so  brilliant  and  vigorous  as  is  shown  in  his 
poems,  and  in  the  papers  to  which  we  have  alluded,  and  of  which 
Mr.  Griswold  also  speaks,  we  feel  that  even  criticism  of  the 
highest  kind  is  an  employment  below  the  true  measure  of  its 
dignity,  and,  we  may  say,  its  duty ;  for  to  be  a  tender  of  the 
light  in  another  man's  tomb,  is  no  fit  occupation  for  one  who  is 
able  to  kindle  a  lamp  of  his  own,  whose  ray  may  abide  against 
all  the  force  of  night,  and  storms,  and  time.  The  poet's  is  a 
consecrating  gift.  A  man  who  can  produce  such  a  work  as 
"The  Raven,"  ought  to  feel  that  it  was  his  office  to  afford  sub 
jects,  and  not  models,  to  criticism. 

In  the  same  class  of  writers,  Willis  has  a  prominent  rank 
given  to  him  by  Mr.  Griswold.  To  such  he  is  fully  entitled. 
The  world  has  lately,  with  some  diligence,  been  set  wrong  in  his 
matter,  but  it  is  already,  by  a  certain  instinct,  bringing  itself 
right  in  the  main.*  Indeed  it  is  a  mistake  to  accuse  the  world 
of  injustice  or  malignity.  It  is  an  honest  world,  at  heart ;  its 
faults  proceed  in  reality  from  want  of  knowledge,  or  from  defects 
in  judgment.  Like  the  rest  of  us,  it  is  liable  at  times  to  bald 
misapprehension ;  it  is  subject  to  the  imposture  of  appearances ; 
it  is  prone  to  decide  precipitately;  on  many  subjects,  it  is  not 
well  informed,  and  so  is  exposed  to  the  arts  of  charlatanism  and 
the  arrogance  of  pretenders ;  nay,  what  was  hardly  to  be  looked 
for  in  so  old  a  subject,  it  suffers  from  an  extreme  of  diffidence, 
and,  from  a  want  of  confidence  in  its  own  clearest  impressions, 
will  believe  one  thing  when  it  knows  another,  and  will  be  dic 
tated  to  by  men  who  well  might  go  to  school  to  it.  As  respects 

*  These  remarks  were  written  at  a,  time  when  several  of  the  English  Reviews 
had  conspired  to  make  a  virulent  and  unjust  attack  upon  Mr.  Willis's  literary 
pretensions ;  the  result,  no  doubt,  in  a  large  degree,  of  English  insularity  and 
national  dislike.  On  this  account  especially,  the  author  gives  to  Mr.  Willis's 
merits,  as  identified  with  America,  a  special  and  elaborate  consideration. — ED. 


30.J  THE    PROSE  WRITERS  OF  AMERICA.  39 

sagacity,  it  cannot  be  characterized  as  weak,  but  it  is  slow.  A 
subject  must  be  removed  some  distance  into  the  past,  before  its 
myriad  eyes  can  get  the  focus.  When  it  does  see,  we  must  all 
give  up  to  it.  The  rectification  of  popular  opinions  is,  there 
fore,  a  process  of  anticipation  rather  than  of  change ;  and,  in 
venturing  upon  the  task  of  correction,  we  profess  not  to  have 
thought  better,  but  a  little  faster. 

With  Mr.  Willis  we  have  never  had  the  pleasure  of  any 
personal  acquaintance  or  relations.  But  speaking  of  him  as  a 
literary  man,  by  what,  in  common  with  the  whole  country,  we 
have  seen  and  known,  we  may  affirm  with  certainty  that  no  man 
is  of  a  more  open  and  prompt  disposition  in  respect  to  the  appre 
ciation  and  encouragement  of  other  literary  men,  who  are  always, 
of  course,  in  some  degree  literary  rivals.  His  hand  is  as  ready 
to  aid  them  when  struggling  toward  distinction  in  letters,  as  his 
pen  is  to  recognize  them  when  they  have  emerged  into  it,  to 
explain  their  merits  and  expand  their  reputation.  Those  who 
have  needed  him  have  seen  his  benevolence;  those  who  have 
trusted  him  have  found  him  faithful ;  those  who  have  favored 
him  know  that  he  is  grateful.  Conduct  such  as  he  has  exhib 
ited,  and  such  a  character  as  he  enjoys  among  those  who  know 
him,  a  superficial  or  spurious  virtue  could  neither  inspire  nor 
sustain.  The  world  has  a  distrust  of  too  much  refinement — 
which  it  refers  to  a  tainted  heart  or  a  feeble  head — and  the  dis 
trust  is  not  unnatural;  but  in  the  present  case,  if  the  testimony 
of  friends  is  of  any  credibility — it  is  grafted  on  a  wild  stock  of 
sense  and  feeling.  Willis  is  a  man  who,  if  he  possessed  more 
cant,  would  be  thought  to  have  more  virtue ;  whose  morality  has 
not  pretension  enough  to  be  popular,  and  who,  if  he  had  more 
hypocrisy  of  speech,  would  undoubtedly  be  credited  for  a  better 
heart. 

The  causes  of  the  misapprehensions  which  have  been  prevalent 
on  his  subject  might  easily  be  discovered.  One  of  them  arose 
out  of  circumstances  more  honorable  to  his  spirit  and  inde 
pendence  than  altogether  prudent.  In  the  beginning  of  his 
career,  he  quarrelled  with  the  reviewers;  and  it  is  generally 
agreed  that  a  man  had  better  have  a  bad  epitaph  aft er  his  death 


40  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [/ETAT.  .10. 

than  their  ill  report  while  he  lives.  Tlis  taste,  his  good  feeling, 
his  disgust  at  imposition,  and  his  hatred  of  oppression,  drove 
him  into  that  quarrel,  and  his  ability  and  the  justice  of  his  cause 
carried  him  triumphantly  through  it.  He  spoke  of  Captain 
Marryat,  in  the  high  day  of  his  popularity,  as  the  whole  world 
now  acknowledges  that  Captain  Marryat  deserved  to  be  spoken 
of;  and  he  retorted  with  memorable  vigor  upon  Mr  Lockhart, 
who,  having  violated  the  law  of  decorum  himself  with  the 
shamelessness  of  a  prostitute,  now  stickled  for  its  strictness  in 
others  with  the  fastidiousness  of  a  prude. 

Those  who  do  not  taste  the  peculiarities  of  Mr.  Willis's  merit, 
or  are  willing  to  be  thought  difficult,  have  imputed  to  his  style 
the  faults  of  affectation  and  conceit.  Fineness  of  sense  and 
feeling  is  undoubtedly  the  Delilah  of  his  taste,  under  whose  fas 
cination  he  is  sometimes  shorn  of  his  strength.  Hence  often  he 
is  not  natural.  He  is  too  frequently  "upon  the  rack  of  exer 
tion."  This  must  be  conceded:  and  if  the  suggestions  of  an 
unknown  counsellor  are  worthy  of  being  followed,  we  would  urge, 
above  all  things,  upon  this  fine  writer  to  achieve,  as  an  all-es 
sential  element  of  true  literary  style,  the  merit  of  simplicity. 
But  we  shall  not  here  enlarge  upon  what  we  may  be  per 
mitted  to  regret.  We  can  pardon  something  to  the  exuberance 
of  youthful  faculties,  more  to  circumstances,  and  a  great  deal  to 
the  natural  excesses  of  human  temper,  by  which  a  man  in  pur 
suit  of  refinement  may  verge  upon  effeminacy.  Where  there  is 
uncommon  merit,  a  liberal  mind  will  overlook  and  forget  defects 
and  weaknesses  in  the  glow  of  enjoyment  and  admiration.  Has 
anybody  yet  found  out  how  to  defend  Shakspeare's  quibbles  and 
clenches,  or  Dryden's  freedoms,  or  Pope's  unvarying  monotony  ? 
We  believe  not ;  yet  nobody  is  on  that  account  less  moved  when 
Othello  rages  over  the  scene,  or  less  open  to  the  influence  of 
brilliant  sense  and  lively  passion  in  the  writings  of  the  other 
two.  We  have  not  labored  to  acquire  that  waterish  judgment 
which,  under  the  name  of  critical,  bears  up  and  floats  upon  its 
surface  all  the  light  straws  and  empty  rubbish  with  which 
valuable  tilings  are  often  surrounded,  and  lets  every  thing  that 
is  weighty  sink  out  of  sight.  Mr.  Willis's  literary  failings  pro- 


.  30.]  THE  PROSE  WRITERS  OF  AMERICA.  4] 

ceed  out  of  a  worthy,  or,  at  least,  a  pardonable  cause :  a  hatred 
of  parade,  and  a  contempt  for  the  arts  of  pedantry  and  profes 
sional  mystery.  In  truth,  the  old  dignified  and  solemn  style 
was  so  thoroughly  done  to  death,  that,  for  our  own  parts,  we  like 
even  the  extravagances  of  this  natural  and  simple  school.  Let 
us,  then,  with  a  certain  candor  which  becomes  men  who  would 
judge,  estimate  the  nature  and  extent  of  his  capacities. 

No  man  has  appeared  in  our  literature,  endowed  with  a 
greater  variety  of  fine  qualities.  He  possesses  an  understand 
ing,  quick,  acute,  distinguishing  even  in  excess;  enriched  by 
culture,  and  liberalized  and  illuminated  by  much  observation. 
He  commands  all  the  resources  of  passion ;  at  the  same  time 
that  he  is  master  of  the  effects  of  manner.  The  suggestions 
of  an  animated  sense  are  harmonized  by  feeling,  and  are  adorned 
by  a  finished  wit.  His  taste  is  nice,  but  it  is  not  narrow  or 
bigoted,  and  his  sympathies  with  his  reader  are  intimate  and 
true.  His  works  exhibit  a  profusion  of  pointed  and  just  com 
ment  on  society  and  life ;  they  sparkle  with  delicate  and  easy 
humor;  they  display  a  prodigality  of  fancy,  and  are  fragrant 
with  all  the  floral  charm  of  sentiment.  He  possesses  surprising 
saliency  of  mind,  which  in  his  hasty  effusions  often  fatigues,  but 
in  his  matured  compositions  is  controlled  to  the  just  repose  of 
art.  But  distinct  from  each  of  these,  and  sovereign  over  them 
all,  is  the  vivifying  and  directing  energy  of  a  fine  poetical  talent ; 
that  prophetic  faculty  in  man  whose  effects  are  as  vast  as  its 
processes  are  mysterious ;  whose  action  is  a  moral  enchantment 
that  all  feel,  but  none  can  fathom.  This  influence  it  is  which, 
entering  into  and  impregnating  all  his  other  faculties,  gives  force 
to  some,  elevation  to  others,  and  grace  and  interest  to  them  all. 

A  peculiarity  of  Mr.  Willis  consists  in  his  having  united  in 
himself,  and  reconciled  in  art,  two  powers  which  are  so  distinct 
and  even  inconsistent  that  not  only  do  they  scarcely  ever  enter 
into  the  same  genius,  but  rarely  can  be  appreciated  and  enjoyed 
by  the  same  taste.  If  the  ideal  faculty  has,  in  any  author,  co  • 
existed  with  the  opposite  talents  of  wit  and  observation,  the 
two  have  yet  been  distinct,  and  have  been  exercised  upon  sepa 
rate  works ;  but  in  Willis  they  seem  to  be  identified  to  a  great 
4* 


42  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [MrAf.  30. 

degree,  and  in  Ms  productions  their  influence  is  interfused  and 
blended  together.  In  his  tales,  for  example,  he  leads  us  into  a 
drawing-room ;  the  persons  of  the  story  arc  mere  human  gentle 
men  in  coats  and  stocks,  and  ladies,  not  "in  beauty  dight"  alone, 
but  appareled  with  the  aid  of  strings  and  hooks  and  so  forth. 
The  beginning  of  the  tale  is  simple,  its  progress  easy,  and  its 
end  satisfactory.  Here  the  function  of  an  ordinary  story-teller 
would  cease ;  but  it  is  precisely  here  that  Willis's  art  begins. 
What  he  has  of  remarkable  lies  beyond  this;  it  lies  in  the 
faculty  which  can  add  the  loftier  without  taking  away  the  less ; 
which  can  create  the  wonderful  without  destroying  the  familiar ; 
which  can  make  the  scheme  ideal  without  its  ceasing  to  be  real ; 
can  shed  the  rich  lights  of  glowing  fancy  over  the  unaltered  forms 
of  common  life ;  can  carry  us  through  a  romance  without  task 
ing  our  invention,  and  delight  us  with  all  the  interests  of  poetry 
without  starting  our  most  common  sympathies. 

Mr.  Willis's  genius  does  not  affront  the  sterner  shapes  of 
imagination  that  wait  to  be  bodied  by  the  poet :  it  woos  the 
lighter  and  lovelier  forms  of  fancy  which  are  not  less  abiding 
in  their  beauty.  The  author  seems  to  let  his  fancy  wander  at 
its  own  quaint  will,  and  to  contemplate  no  loftier  end  than  his 
own  amusement.  But  when  we  return  to  consider  the  impres 
sion  which  has  been  produced  and  remains;  when  we  observe 
the  essential  truth  that  is  wrapped  up  in  the  careless  comment, 
and  what  deep  experience  breathes  in  that  which  seemed  but 
the  wantonness  of  a  capricious  pen,  then  we  recognize  that  this 
seeming  negligence  is  real  toil ;  that  there  is  an  earnest  purpose 
in  this  apparent  trifling,  and  that  much  art  has  been  concealed 
with  more  artifice. 

After  all,  the  basis  of  the  literary  character  of  Mr.  Willis,  and 
the  most  valuable  of  all  his  qualities,  is  common  sense  ;  out  of 
which  we  shall  always  believe,  that  the  best  literature  must  pro 
ceed.  He  gets  very  thoroughly  at  the  truth  of  life ;  his  percep 
tions  are  not  blinded  by  the  pre-judgments  of  a  visionary 
philosophy,  and  his  conclusions  are  neither  warped  by  his  own 
passions  nor  racked  to  fit  the  prejudices  of  a  faction.  He  is  not 
forever  dealing  with  sublimated  theories,  and  bewildering  reality 


.  30.]  THE  PROSE  WRITERS  OF  AMERICA.  43 

with  transcendental  fallacies.  His  conceptions  possess  that  spon 
taneous  force  and  interest,  that  native  vigor  and  richness  which 
recalls  the  strong  days  of  England,  when  her  literature  spoke 
the  language  of  nature,  and  not  the  cant  of  systems ;  breathed 
the  fresh  air  of  life,  and  not  the  sickly  atmosphere  of  schools. 

There  is  an  intimate  connection  between  genius  and  language, 
or,  in  more  general  terms,  between  the  powers  of  conception  and 
those  of  expression.  Phrenology  has  recognized  the  latter  as 
distinct,  intellectual  faculties;  and  the  law  of  the  relation 
between  the  two  and  their  mutual  reaction  is  one  of  the  contri 
butions  which  knowledge  expects  from  that  science.  As  to  no 
man  are  given  the  trembling  sensibilities,  the  thrilling  sentiments, 
the  delicate  apprehensions  of  the  poet,  but  with  them  is  given 
the  power  to  impart  every  nicety  of  his  impressions  in  the  appro 
priate  dialect  of  his  art,  so  upon  none  is  bestowed  this  marvelous 
gift  of  tongues  but  those  to  whom  is  given  a  higher  inspiration 
which  it  is  their  privilege  to  set  forth.  Indeed,  it  is  only  when 
the  divinity  of  genius  rides  upon  the  language,  that  the  vehicle 
thus  becomes,  like  the  car  of  Kehama,  itself  animated  with  life. 
What  magic  sits  upon  the  syllables  of  Shakspeare !  how  the 
phrases  of  Bacon  glitter  and  ring,  like  the  arrows  of  Apollo  1 
What  rich  and  dazzling  influence  in  the  purple  words  of  Thom 
son,  and  the  jeweled  speech  of  Gray !  Expression,  then,  is  one 
certain  test  of  genius ;  and  Mr.  Willis  satisfies  that  test  more 
entirely,  perhaps,  than  any  of  his  contemporaries.  He  is  a 
master  of  the  hidden  sorceries  of  speech.  He  can  unbind  the 
rainbow  hues  that  are  wrapt  up  and  hidden  in  the  colorless  light 
of  our  common  language,  and  shed  their  lustre  over  thought  and 
passion.  Like  the  great  authors  of  an  earlier  day,  he  aims  to 
attain  those  fine  and  rich  impressions  which  dwell  only  in  lan 
guage,  and  have  no  being  but  in  words.  An  error  is  made  by 
those  who  do  not  discriminate  between  science  and  art.  In 
matters  of  reason,  the  thought  is  everything,  the  setting  forth 
of  it  nothing.  But  with  the  fine  arts,  the  expression  is  a  great 
part  of  the  creation.  The  fine  arts  exist  at  that  point  where 
mind  and  matter  coalesce ;  they  are  the  issue  of  spirit  embracing 
with  sense ;  hence  their  most  genuine  effects  flash  into  existence 


44  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [JErAT.  30. 

only  when  the  inward  thought  passes  forth  into  the  outer  medium, 
be  it  sound,  color,  form,  or  language,  and  the  two  have  become 
incorporate  forever. 

Mr.  Willis's  early  poems  on  Scripture  subjects  are  marked  by 
an  exquisiteness  of  moral  perception — a  delicacy  of  penciling, 
like  the  touches  of  the  morning  light  along  the  heavens,  and  a 
noble  sympathy  with  truth  and  virtue.  The  snowy  gleams  of 
morning  hope  are  joined  to  a  glow  of  passion  as  golden  as  sun 
set  ;  and  the  mingled  ray  flushes  everything  into  beauty.  To 
equal  the  best  that  America  has  yet  done,  Willis  needs  only  that 
profound  study  of  poetry  as  a  great  art,  and  that  patient  and 
energetic  development  of  his  faculties,  without  which  the  old 
sublimities  of  verse  were  never  reached. 

For  ourselves,  bred  in  a  school  of  letters  too  severe,  perhaps, 
in  the  extent  and  nicety  of  its  exactions,  we  are  not  apt  to  throw 
our  admiration  about  promiscuously.  To  that  which  is  modern 
and  popular,  we  yield  it  not  unreluctantly.  At  the  same  time  we 
ask,  who  is  the  writer  now  in  England  that  combines  upon  his 
pages  so  many  of  the  qualities  that  contribute  to  form  that 
copious,  rich  and  mellow  composition  which  characterizes  the  old 
models  of  strength  and  beauty  ?  The  literature  of  England  has, 
in  modern  times,  degenerated :  it  has  become  factitious,  feeble, 
and  false ;  technical,  narrow,  and  dogmatic.  The  strong,  bold 
music  which  once  rose  from  it,  and  shook  the  heavens  with  its 
kingly  tones,  is  changed  to  a  lean  and  scrannel  pipe,  whose  thin 
sounds  tinkle  in  the  chambers  of  the  ear,  but  neither  reach  the 
understanding  nor  rouse  the  heart.  Mr.  Willis  very  wisely 
turned  away  from  the  irretrievable  barrenness  of  this  meta 
physical  school,  to  refresh  his  faculties  at  the  fountains  of  a  more 
genuine  inspiration.  The  type  of  his  manner  might  be  found 
in  the  writings  of  the  best  class  of  those  choice  spirits  who 
flowered  into  literature  a  little  before  and  after  the  period  of  the 
Restoration ;  men  of  thought  and  of  action ;  at  once  geniuses, 
scholars  and  courtiers.  He  possesses  that  delicate  propriety  of 
sentiment,  instinctive  grace,  and  truth  combined  with  refinement 
of  perception,  together  with  a  rare  felicity  of  words,  which  drew 
down  on  Waller  the  weighty  praise  of  Dry  den,  who  often  called 


.  30.]          THE   PROSE  WRITERS  OF  AMERICA.  45 

him  the  father  of  our  English  elegance,  and  taught  Pope,  in  the 
next  age,  to  appreciate  and  enlarge  his  merit.  There  is  the  same 
usage  of  actual  life  in  its  best  phases  ;  the  same  knowledge  of 
the  heart,  if  not  in  its  deeper  aud  darker  workings,  yet  in  all  the 
wide  range  of  healthful,  fine  and  pleasurable  emotion ;  the  same 
spontaneous  good  sense,  suavity  of  manner,  and  perpetual  soft 
play  of  wit.  We  must  confess  that  this  school  of  letters  has  in 
it  something  very  charming  :  it  addresses  our  sympathies,  if  not 
with  the  force  of  some  which  went  before  it,  yet  with  an  intelli 
gence,  breadth,  and  distinctness  which  none  that  have  succeeded 
it  have  reached.  It  is  the  literature  of  gentlemen.  Those  who  are 
familiar  only  with  the  violent  tribunitian  style  of  this  time  will 
not  at  once  recognize  its  strength ;  and  those  who  have  had 
their  virtue  stretched  upon  the  theological  racks  of  the  age,  will 
hardly  give  it  credit  for  the  solid  and  genuine  integrity  which  it 
conceals  under  an  entire  simplicity  of  manner. 

Though  never  disposed  to  dogmatize  where  it  is  at  all  reasona 
ble  to  doubt,  we  have  no  idea  of  suffering  any  of  the  modern 
school  of  England  to  dictate  judgments  to  us  upon  literary  sub 
jects.  "We  see  nothing  in  their  performances  which  should  make 
us  afraid  of  their  opinions.  This  is  a  world  in  which  nations, 
like  individuals,  must  take  care  of  themselves.  Whenever 
America  chooses  to  claim  her  own,  she  may  hold  forth  the  name 
of  this  gifted  person,  as  that  of  a  writer,  who  has  felt  and  been 
faithful  to  the  great  mission  of  art ;  which  is,  not  to  lend  itself 
to  the  perversions  of  schemes  and  theories,  but  to  develop,  to 
animate,  and  to  beautify  the  native,  spontaneous,  deathless 
sympathies  and  aspirations  of  humanity.  Above  all,  this  is  his 
peculiar  characteristic  as  an  author,  that,  while  others  touch  but 
one  string,  or  entertain  us  with  the  echoes  of  a  single  note,  there 
proceeds  from  his  productions  a  rich  and  varied  chime  of  reason, 
passion,  sentiment,  and  fancy,  whose  tones  enrich  the  air  with 
charming  melody,  and  long  will  float  upon  the  breezes  of  the 
future. 

In  a  special  department  of  this  same  class  of  miscellaneous 
writers,  in  which  Mr.  Willis  is  presented,  the  editor  of  "The 
Prose  Writers"  includes  Mrs.  Kirkland,  the  well-known  authoress 


46  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  30. 


of  "Western  Clearings,"  "A  New  Home,"  "Forest  Life," 
and  other  tales  descriptive  of  American  frontier  character  and 
homes.  This  particular  department  of  writers  is  likely  to  receive 
new  honor,  we  are  told,  in  a  production  called  "Leavenworth," 
a  story  of  the  Mississippi  and  the  Prairies,  by  Mr.  J.  D.  Nourse, 
of  Kentucky. 

This  is  a  field  of  literature  all  our  own,  and  which  we  specially 
note,  because  we  desire  to  see  it  specially  cultivated.  As  we 
have  stated  in  the  opening  and  in  other  parts  of  this  paper,  we 
entertain  a  confident  opinion  that  the  progress  of  life  and  action 
in  our  country  will  develop,  in  every  department  of  taste, 
a  style  essentially  native  and  original.  We  constantly  have 
prophesied  of  a  national  literature  that  should  be  equally  genuine, 
in  its  relations  to  truth  and  beauty,  with  those  elder  schools 
which  criticism  has  sealed  with  its  approbation,  and  yet  be 
stamped  with  the  marks  of  a  new  and  individual  creation  ;  a 
style  of  composition  that  should  symbolize,  in  the  richness  of  its 
resources,  the  variety  of  its  effects,  and  the  energy  of  its  tone, 
those  characteristics  of  force  and  freedom  and  expansion  that 
mark  the  physical  scenes  amid  which  we  are  placed,  and  the 
spirits  and  minds  of  the  men  who  inhabit  them.  To  be  Ameri 
can  without  falling  into  Americanisms  —  to  catch  that  which  is 
peculiar  among  us  through  exuberance  of  youthful  power  and 
not  through  distortion  of  ancient  forms  —  to  derive  from  the 
promises  of  the  Future  an  ideality  more  trancing  than  the 
memories  of  the  Past,  and  to  find  in  Hope  an  inspiration  more 
kindling  than  was  ever  drawn  from  Fancy.  —  is  the  noble  task 
that  is  set  before  him  that  would  be  in  letters  the  type  and  idol 
of  a  nation  which  is  just  rustling  its  wings  in  preparation  for  the 
limitless  flight  that  awaits  its  energies.  Some  of  our  ablest 
authors,  fascinated,  very  excusably,  with  the  faultless  models  of 
another  time,  have  declined  these  new  conditions  of  distinction 
entirely;  they  have  given  us  merely  "Spectators"  and  "Tattlers" 
with  false  dates,  and  developed  a  style  of  composition  whose 
very  merits  imply  an  anachronism,  even  in  the  proportion  of 
excellence.  Others  have  understood  the  result  to  be  attained 
better  than  the  means  of  arriving  at  it.  They  have  failed  to 


.  30.]  THE  PROSE  WRITERS  OP  AMERICA.  4f 

take  the  difference  between  those  peculiarities  in  our  society, 
manners,  tempers  and  tastes,  which  are  genuine  and  characteristic, 
and  those  which  are  merely  defects  and  errors  upon  the  English 
system ;  they  have  acquired  the  force  and  gayety  of  liberty,  but 
not  the  dignity  of  independence,  and  are  only  provincial  when 
they  hoped  to  be  national.  Mr.  Cooper,  hitherto,  appears  to  us 
to  have  been  more  happy  than  any  other  writer  in  reconciling 
those  repugnant  qualities*  which  are  indicated  in  our  opening 
remark;  and  displaying  the  features,  character  and  tone  of  a 
new  and  great  national  style  in  letters,  which,  original  and  unimi- 
tative,  is  yet  in  harmony  with  the  truth  of  nature  and  ancient 
models.  And  it  is  on  that  account  that  we  have  always  con 
sidered  Mr.  Cooper's  greatness  as  resting  on  quite  another  plat 
form  from  that  of  several  of  our  eminent  men  of  letters.  "  There 
is  but  one  way,"  says  Mr.  Griswold,  "in  which  we  can  be  rightly 
and  advantageously  free  from  the  tyranny  of  British  examples. 
Truth  of  understanding  and  truth  of  feeling  must  be  the  only 
directors  to  real  excellence  in  untried  courses.  In  literary  art, 
as  in  the  higher  one  of  virtue,  it  is  only  when  '  the  truth  shall 
make  us  free,'  that  we  can  become  'free  indeed.'" 

The  past  of  America — both  that  which  brings  us  in  contact 
with  the  early  Indian  races,  and  that  which  is  illustrated  by  the 
heroism  of  our  revolutionary  struggle — has  already  yielded  a 
copious  harvest  to  the  sickle  of  the  Romancer.  But  the  America 
of  the  present  hour — the  America  whose  history  is  to  be  found 
only  in  the  columns  of  the  morning  newspaper,  or  in  the  Extra 
which  brings  our  annals  up  to  the  present  moment,  is  abounding 
in  occurrences  of  startling  and  profound  interest,  and  in  charac 
ters  full  of  the  power  and  passions  that  tell  with  enduring  effect 
upon  the  condition  of  the  world.  The  tree  of  our  national  life, 
however  dry  and  wooden  it  may  seem  in  the  hortus  siccus  of  the 
north  and  east,  shoots  out  in  the  opposite  directions  into  a  wild 
luxuriance,  characteristic  of  a  climate  whose  forest  growths  are 
brightened  with  tints  with  which  nothing  among  us  but  the 
splendors  of  the  heavens  can  compete.  That  Gothic  fervor  of 
invasion  which  had  so  long  been  abeyant  in  the  civilization  of 
England,  there  swells  once  more  within  our  blood :  as  in  the 


48  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^ETAT.  30. 

days  of  Alaric,  the  stream  of  an  irrepressible  population  sweeps 
down  in  tumultuous  current  upon  the  plains  of  the  south,  and 
encountering  the  adverse  current  of  another  race,  the  shock 
sends  the  waters  of  strife  foaming  into  forms  that  glitter  with 
the  dazzle  of  romance  and  wonder. 

The  difficulty  in  dealing  with  the  incidents  of  our  western 
progress  in  recent  times,  is  that  their  inherent  and  substantial 
interest  is  so  powerful,  that  the  task  of  idealizing  them  becomes 
almost  impracticable.  Herein  consist  the  merits  of  both  the 
authors  we  have  named  in  this  particular  connection.  Of  Mrs. 
Kirkland's  "Western  Clearings,"  Mr.  Griswold  thus  speaks: 

"It  has  the  strength,  freshness,  effect  and  brilliancy,  which  we  associate 
with  the  best  conception  of  our  native  character,  and  is  uniformly  saved  from 
those  kindred  faults  which  lie  so  fatally  near  to  this  bold  class  of  virtues,  by 
the  inborn  refinement,  practised  taste,  ready  tact,  and  varied  resources  which 
are  the  special  and  rare  accomplishment  of  this  delightful  writer.  In  the 
roughest  scenes,  she  is  never  coarse ;  amidst  the  least  cultivated  society,  she 
never  is  vulgar.  She  interests  us  in  the  wild  men  and  in  the  wild  occurrences 
of  border  life,  by  identifying  them  with  the  fortunes  and  feelings  of  that 
humanity  of  which  we  are  a  part.  Her  sympathies  are  sensitive,  and  various 
in  their  range,  but  always  sound  and  healthful,  and  neither  extravagant  in  their 
objects,  nor  excessive  in  their  degree.  The  constant  presence  of  strong,  active 
sense,  on  the  part  of  the  author,  carries  us  through  the  monotonous  incidents 
of  western  settlement  with  animation,  amusement,  and  instruction.  These 
narratives  have,  throughout,  that  simplicity,  vigor,  and  inherent  beauty,  which 
a  superior  mind,  if  it  be  faithful  to  the  great  law  of  genuineness  and  honesty, 
never  fails  of  attaining  in  its  representations  of  the  actual." 

Mr.  Nourse,  instead  of  gazing  at  the  views  before  him  through 
the  medium  of  a  dreamy  sentiment  merely,  has  looked  upon  them 
through  the  atmosphere  of  those  mighty  feelings  and  kindling 
thoughts  and  fervid  expectations  which,  to  the  appreciant  eye, 
hang  ever  around  them — the  only  medium  capable  of  refracting 
such  stern  realities  into  a  picturesque  harmony.  The  visionary 
faculty  of  anticipation  and  reflection  has  been  the  influence  by 
which  he  has  transmuted  the  actual  into  the  poetic.  A  conspiracy 
of  land  speculators,  viewed  as  the  origin  of  a  nation,  acquires 
grandeur  under  the  pen  of  the  philosophic  narrator :  the  charac 
ter  of  the  huntsman  of  the  backwoods  looms  up  into  something 


.  30.]  THE  PROSE  WRITERS  OF  AMERICA.  49 

of  classic  majesty,  when  we  consider  that  the  rovings  of  his 
impatient  steps  are  the  march  of  an  empire :  the  rough  expe 
riences  of  this  border  life  are  clothed  with  elevation  and  refine 
ment  by  a  conception  of  the  immense  social  results  that  are 
mingled  with  the  fortunes  of  these  daring  wanderers.  The 
coarseness  of  the  materials  wrought  with,  is  rescued  from  ofifen- 
siveness,  sometimes  by  a  gleam  of  profound  thought,  sometimes 
by  an  exhibition  of  exquisite  feeling,  and,  occasionally,  by  a 
highly-wrought  description  of  scenery.  The  singular  contrasts 
produced  by  the  rapid  cross-motions  of  the  elements  of  life  upon 
a  scene  where,  so  far  as  the  structure  of  society  is  concerned, 
the  work  of  creation  may  be  said  to  be  yet  going  on;  the 
strange  lustre  which  a  mature  political  system  assumes,  when 
seen  in  relief  against  a  state  of  savage  turbulence,  which  it  is 
extending  over  and  redeeming;  the  thrilling  spectacle  of  the 
magnificence  of  the  phenomena  of  nature,  in  that  vast  region, 
being  overborne,  and  even  dwarfed,  by  the  greater  sublimity  of 
human  audacity  and  achievement :  all  these  are  characteristic 
circumstances  of  a  society  which  belongs  to  no  country  but  our 
own  ; — a  society  at  once  American  and  the  most  wonderful  now 
existing  upon  earth. 

Mr.  Griswold's  characterization  of  Chief  Justice  Marshall  is 
one  of  the  most  extensive  in  the  book.  We  copy  it  entire : 

"  Mr.  Marshall's  career  as  Chief  Justice  extended  through  a  period  of  more 
than  thirty-four  years,  which  is  the  longest  judicial  tenure  recorded  in  history. 
To  one  who  cannot  follow  his  great  judgments,  in  which,  at  the  same  time,  the 
depths  of  legal  wisdom  are  disclosed  and  the  limits  of  human  reason  measured, 
the  language  of  just  eulogy  must  wear  an  appearance  of  extravagance.  In 
his  own  profession  he  stands  for  the  reverence  of  the  wise  rather  than  for  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  many.  The  proportion  of  the  figure  was  so  perfect,  that 
the  sense  of  its  vastness  was  lost.  Above  the  difficulties  of  common  minds,  he 
was  in  some  degree  above  their  sympathy.  Saved  from  popularity  by  the 
very  rarity  of  his  qualities,  he  astonished  the  most  where  he  was  best  under 
stood.  The  questions  upon  which  his  judgment  was  detained,  and  the  con 
siderations  by  which  his  decision  was  at  last  determined,  were  such  as 
ordinary  understandings,  not  merely  could  not  resolve,  but  were  often  inade 
quate  even  to  appreciate  or  apprehend.  It  was  his  manner  to  deal  directly 
with  the  results  of  thought  and  learning,  and  the  length  and  labor  tf  the 
processes  by  which  these  results  were  suggested  and  verified  might  elude  the 

5 


50  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  30. 

consciousness  of  those  who  had  not  themselves  attempted  to  perform  them. 
From  the  position  in  which  he  stood  of  evident  superiority  to  his  subject,  it 
was  obviously  so  easy  for  him  to  describe  its  character  and  define  its  relations, 
that  we  sometimes  forgot  to  wonder  by  what  faculties  or  what  efforts  he  had 
attained  to  that  eminence.  We  were  so  much  accustomed  to  see  his  mind 
move  only  in  the  light,  that  there  was  a  danger  of  our  not  observing  that  the 
illumination  by  which  it  was  surrounded  was  the  beam  of  its  own  presence, 
and  not  the  natural  atmosphere  of  the  scene. 

"  The  true  character  and  measure  of  Marshall's  greatness  are  missed  by 
those  who  conceive  of  him  as  limited  within  the  sphere  of  the  justices  of  Eng 
land,  and  who  describe  him  merely  as  the  first  of  lawyers.  To  have  been 
'the  most  consummate  judge  that  ever  sat  in  judgment/  was  the  highest 
possibility  of  Eldon's  merit,  but  was  only  a  segment  of  Marshall's  fame.  It 
was  in  a  distinct  department,  of  more  dignified  functions,  almost  of  an 
opposite  kind,  that  he  displayed  those  abilities  that  advance  his  name  to  the 
highest  renown,  and  shed  around  it  the  glories  of  a  statesman  and  legislator. 
The  powers  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States  are  such  as  were  never 
before  confided  to  a  judicial  tribunal  by  any  people.  As  determining,  without 
appeal,  its  own  jurisdiction,  and  that  of  the  legislature  and  executive,  that 
court  is  not  merely  the  highest  estate  in  the  country,  but  it  settles  and  con 
tinually  moulds  the  constitution  of  the  government.  Of  the  great  work  of 
constructing  a  nation,  but  a  small  part,  practically,  had  been  performed  when 
the  written  document  had  been  signed  by  the  convention :  a  vicious  theory  of 
interpretation  might  defeat  the  grandeur  and  unity  of  the  organization,  and  a 
want  of  comprehension  and  foresight  might  fatally  perplex  the  harmony  of 
the  combination.  The  administration  of  a  system  of  polity  is  the  larger  part 
of  its  establishment.  What  the  constitution  was  to  be,  depended  on  the 
principles  on  which  the  federal  instrument  was  to  be  construed,  and  they  were 
not  to  be  found  in  the  maxims  and  modes  of  reasoning  by  which  the  law 
determines  upon  social  contrasts  between  man  and  man,  but  were  to  be  sought 
anew  in  the  elements  of  political  philosophy  and  the  general  suggestions  of 
legislative  wisdom.  To  these  august  duties  Judge  Marshall  brought  a  great 
ness  of  conception  that  was  commensurate  with  their  difficulty;  he  came  to 
them  in  the  spirit  and  with  the  strength  of  one  who  would  minister  to  the 
development  of  a  nation;  and  it  was  the  essential  sagacity  of  his  guiding 
mind  that  saved  us  from  illustrating  the  sarcasms  of  Mr.  Burke  about  paper 
constitutions.  He  saw  the  futility  of  attempting  to  control  society  by  a  meta 
physical  theory ;  he  apprehended  the  just  relation  between  opinion  and  life, 
between  the  forms  of  speculation  and  the  force  of  things.  Knowing  that  we 
are  wise  in  respect  to  nature,  only  as  we  give  back  to  it  faithfully  what  we 
have  learned  from  it  obediently,  he  sought  to  fix  the  wisdom  of  the  real  and 
to  resolve  it  into  principles.  He  made  the  nation  explain  its  constitution,  and 
compelled  the  actual  to  define  the  possible.  Experience  was  the  dialectic  by 
which  he  deduced  from  substantial  premises  a  practical  conclusion.  The  might 
of  reason  by  which  convenience  and  right  were  thus  moulded  into  union,  was 
amazing.  But  while  he  knew  the  folly  of  endeavoring  to  be  wiser  than  time, 


.  30.]          THE  PROSE  WRITERS  OF  AMERICA.  51 

his  matchless  resources  of  good  sense  contributed  to  the  orderly  development 
ef  the  inherent  elements  of  the  constitution,  by  a  vigor  and  dexterity  as 
eminent  in  their  kind  as  they  were  rare  in  their  combination.  The  vessel  of 
state  was  launched  by  the  patriotism  of  many  :  the  chart  of  her  course  was 
designed  chiefly  by  Ilamilton :  but  when  the  voyage  was  begun,  the  eye  that 
observed,  and  the  head  that  reckoned,  and  the  hand  that  compelled  the  ship 
to  keep  her  course  amid  tempests  without  and  threats  of  mutiny  within, 
were  those  of  the  chief  justice.  Posterity  will  give  him  reverence  as  one  of 
the  founders  of  the  nation ;  and  of  that  group  of  statesmen  who  may  one  day, 
perhaps,  be  regarded  as  above  the  nature,  as  they  certainly  were  beyond  the 
dimensions  of  men,  no  figure,  save  ONE  alone,  will  rise  upon  the  eye  in  gran 
deur  more  towering  than  that  of  John  Marshall. 

"  The  authority  of  the  Supreme  Court,  however,  is  not  confined  to  cases  of 
constitutional  law :  it  embraces  the  whole  range  of  judicial  action,  as  it  is  dis 
tributed  in  England  into  legal,  equitable,  ecclesiastical  and  maritime  jurisdic 
tions.  The  equity  system  of  this  court  was  too  little  developed  to  enable  us  to 
say  what  Marshall  would  have  been  as  a  chancellor.  It  is  difficult  to  admit 
that  he  would  have  been  inferior  to  Lord  Eldon  :  it  is  impossible  to  conceive 
that  he  could  at  all  have  resembled  Lord  Eldon.  But  undoubtedly  the  native 
region  and  proper  interest  of  a  mind  so  analytical  and  so  sound,  so  piercing 
and  so  practical,  was  the  Common  Law,  that  vigorous  system  of  manly  reason 
and  essential  right,  that  splendid  scheme  of  morality  expanded  by  logic  and 
informed  by  prudence.  Perhaps  the  highest  range  of  English  intelligence  is 
illustrated  in  the  law :  yet  where  in  the  whole  line  of  that  august  succession 
will  be  found  a  character  which  fills  the  measure  of  judicial  greatness  so  com 
pletely  as  Chief  Justice  Marshall  ?  Where  in  English  history  is  the  judge, 
whose  mind  was  at  once  so  enlarged  and  so  systematic,  who  so  thoroughly  had 
reduced  professional  science  to  general  reason,  in  whose  disciplined  intellect 
technical  learning  had  so  completely  passed  into  native  sense  ?  Vast  as  the 
reach  of  the  law  is,  it  is  not  an  exaggeration  to  say  that  Marshall's  under 
standing  was  greater,  and  embraced  the  forms  of  legal  sagacity  within  it,  as  a 
part  of  its  own  spontaneous  wisdom.  He  discriminated  with  instinctive 
accuracy  between  those  technicalities  which  have  sprung  from  the  narrowness 
of  inferior  minds,  and  those  which  are  set  by  the  law  for  the  defence  of  some 
vital  element  of  justice  or  reason.  The  former  he  brushed  away  like  cobwebs, 
while  he  yielded  to  the  latter  with  a  respect  which  sometimes  seemed  to  those 
'whose  eyes  were'  not  'opened'  a  species  of  superstition.  In  his  judicial 
office  the  method  of  Marshall  appeared  to  be,  first  to  bow  his  understanding 
reverently  to  the  law,  and  calmly  and  patiently  to  receive  its  instructions  as 
those  of  an  oracle  of  which  he  was  the  minister;  then,  to  prove  these  dictates 
by  the  most  searching  processes  of  reason,  and  to  deliver  them  to  others,  not 
as  decrees  to  be  obeyed,  but  as  logical  manifestations  of  moral  truth.  Un 
doubtedly  he  made  much  use  of  adjudged  cases  j  but  he  used  them  to  give 
light  and  certainty  to  his  own  judgment,  and  not  for  the  vindication  or  support 
of  the  law.  He  would  have  deemed  it  a  reproach  alike  to  his  abilities  and  his 
station,  if  he  should  have  determined  upon  precedent  what  could  have  oeen 


52  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [JETAT.  30. 

demonstrated  by  reason,  or  had  referred  to  authority  what  belonged  to  princi 
ple.  With  singular  capacity,  he  united  systematic  reason  with  a  perception 
of  particular  equity :  too  scrupulous  a  regard  for  the  latter  led  Lord  Eldon  in 
most  instances  to  adjudicate  nothing  but  the  case  before  him;  but  Marshall 
remembered  that  while  he  owed  to  the  suitor  the  decision  of  the  case,  he  owed 
to  society  the  establishment  of  the  principle.  His  mind  naturally  tended,  not 
to  suggestion  and  speculation,  but  to  the  determination  of  opinion  and  the 
closing  of  doubts.  On  the  bench  he  always  recollected  that  he  was  not  merely 
a  lawyer,  and  much  less  a  legal  essayist;  he  was  conscious  of  an  official  duty 
and  an  official  authority ;  and  considered  that  questions  might  be  discussed 
elsewhere,  but  came  to  be  settled  by  him.  The  dignity  with  which  these 
duties  were  discharged  was  not  the  least  admirable  part  of  the  display.  It 
was  Wisdom  on  the  seat  of  Power,  pronouncing  the  decrees  of  Justice. 

"Political  and  legal  sense  are  so  distinct  from  one  another  as  almost  to  be 
irreconcilable  in  the  same  mind.  The  latter  is  a  mere  course  of  deduction 
from  premises ;  the  other  calls  into  exercise  the  highest  order  of  perceptive 
faculties,  and  that  quick  felicity  of  intuition  which  flashes  to  its  conclusions  by 
a  species  of  mental  sympathy  rather  than  by  any  conscious  process  of  argu 
mentation.  The  one  requires  that  the  susceptibility  of  the  judgment  should 
be  kept  exquisitely  alive  to  every  suggestion  of  the  practical,  so  as  to  catch 
and  follow  the  insensible  reasonings  of  life,  rather  than  to  reason  itself:  the 
other  demands  the  exclusion  of  every  thing  not  rigorously  exact,  and  the  con 
centration  of  the  whole  consciousness  of  the  mind  in  kindling  implicit  truth 
into  formal  principles.  The  wonder,  in  Judge  Marshall's  case,  was  to  see 
these  two  almost  inconsistent  faculties,  in  quality  so  matchless  and  in  develop 
ment  so  magnificent,  harmonized  and  united  in  his  marvellous  intelligence. 
We  beheld  him  pass  from  one  to  the  other  department  without  confusing 
their  nature,  and  without  perplexing  his  own  understanding.  When  he 
approached  a  question  of  constitutional  jurisprudence,  we  saw  the  lawyer 
expand  into  the  legislator;  and  in  returning  to  a  narrower  sphere,  pause  from 
the  creative  glow  of  statesmanship,  and  descend  from  intercourse  with  the 
great  conceptions  and  great  feelings  by  which  nations  are  guided  and  society 
is  advanced,  to  submit  his  faculties  with  docility  to  the  yoke  of  legal  forms, 
and  with  impassible  calmness  to  thread  the  tangled  intricacies  of  forensic 
technicalities. 

"  There  was  in  this  extraordinary  man  an  unusual  combination  of  the 
capacity  of  apprehending  truth,  with  the  ability  to  demonstrate  and  make  it 
palpable  to  others.  They  often  exist  together  in  unequal  degrees.  Lord 
Mansfield's  power  of  luminous  explication  was  so  surpassing  that  one  might 
always  say  that  he  made  others  perceive  what  he  did  not  understand  himself; 
but  the  numerous  instances  in  which  his  decisions  have  been  directly  over 
thrown  by  his  successors,  and  the  still  greater  number  of  cases  in  which  his 
opinions  have  been  silently  departed  from,  compel  a  belief  that  his  judgment  was 
not  of  the  truest  kind.  Lord  Eklon's  judicial  sagacity  was  a  species  of  inspi 
ration;  but  he  seemed  to  be  unable  not  only  to  convince  others,  but  even  to 
certify  himself  of  the  correctness  of  his  own  greatest  and  wisest  determinations, 


MTA.V.  30.]  THE  PROSE  WRITERS  OF  AMERICA.  53 

But  Judge  Marshall's  sense  appeared  to  be  at  once  both  instinctive  and  ana 
lytical  :  his  logic  extended  as  far  as  his  perception  :  he  had  no  propositions  in 
his  thoughts  which  he  could  not  resolve  into  their  axioms.  Truth  came  to 
him  as  a  revelation,  and  from  him  as  a  demonstration.  His  mind  was  more 
than  the  faculty  of  vision ;  it  was  a  body  of  light,  which  irradiated  the  subject 
to  which  it  was  directed,  and  rendered  it  as  distinct  to  every  other  eye  as  it 
was  to  its  own. 

"The  mental  integrity  of  this  illustrious  man  was  not  the  least  important 
element  of  his  greatness.  Those  qualities  of  vanity,  fondness  for  display,  the 
love  of  effect,  the  solicitation  of  applause,  sensibility  to  opinions,  which  are 
the  immoralities  of  intellect,  never  attached  to  that  stainless  essence  of  pure 
reason.  He  seemed  to  men  to  be  a  passionless  intelligence;  susceptible  to  no 
feeling  but  the  constant  love  of  right;  subject  to  no  affection  but  a  polarity 
toward  truth." 

Of  Mr.  Legarc  Mr.  Griswold  says : 

"The  impression  left  by  his  collected  writings  is,  that  his  mind  was  of  the 
first  order,  but  that  it  did  not  hold  in  that  order  a  very  prominent  place.  He 
had  that  rectitude  of  judgment,  that  pervading  good  sense,  that  constant  natu 
ral  sympathy  with  truth,  which  is  a  characteristic  of  the  best  class  of  intellects, 
but  he  was  wanting  in  richness,  fervor,  and  creative  vigor.  He  possessed  the 
forms  of  fine  understanding,  but  the  force  of  intellectual  passion,  or  the  fire 
of  genius,  are  not  found.  His  perception  of  truth  was  superior  to  his  power 
of  illustrating  it.  We  follow  the  difficult  and  somewhat  languid  processes  of 
his  thoughts,  and,  surprised  at  last  at  finding  him  in  possession  of  such 
admirable  opinions  on  all  subjects,  we  imagine  that  he  must  have  discovered 
his  conclusions  by  different  faculties  from  those  which  he  uses  to  demonstrate 
them.  That  splendid  fusion  of  reason,  imagination,  and  feeling,  which  con 
stitutes  the  inspiration  of  the  great,  is  not  visible ;  the  display  is  meagre, 
laborious,  and  painful.  He  fills  the  measure  of  his  subject,  but  it  is  by  the 
utmost  stretch  of  his  abilities ;  we  do  not  observe  the  abounding  power,  the 
exuberant  resources,  the  superfluous  energy,  which  mark  the  foremost  of  the 
first. 

"In  his  own  profession  Mr.  Legare"  had,  with  many,  discredited  his  repu 
tation  by  the  devotion  which  he  avowed  to  the  civil  law.  It  is  understood 
that  no  one  who  has  been  able  thoroughly  to  master  and  comprehend  the 
common  law,  is  disposed  to  give  much  time  to  the  civilians.  I  am  inclined  to 
believe  that  no  man  ever  yet  took  up  the  Code,  because  having  sounded  the 
common  law  through  its  depths,  he  had  found  it  wanting :  many  have  cheaply 
sought  the  praise  of  having  gone  through  the  common  law,  by  appearing  to 
have  attained  to  something  beyond  it,  upon  the  principle  that  if  you  '  quote- 
Lycophron,  they  will  take  it  for  granted  that  you  have  read  Homer.'  In 
Mr.  Legare"'s  case,  such  suspicions  are  probably  without  justice.  He  wag 
attracted  to  the  'first  collection  of  written  reason'  chiefly  by  the  interest 
which  the  scholar  feels  in  that  majestic  philosophy  of  morals  which  is  the 
'imperium  sine  fine'  of  Rome.  His  remarks  in  a  review  of  Kent's  Com 

5* 


54  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^ETAT.  30. 

mentaries,  show  that  ho  understood  what  advantages  the  common  law  had 
attained  over  the  civil  law,  as  a  practical  system,  by  its  constant  regard  for 
certainty,  convenience  and  policy.  As  a  common  lawyer,  Mr.  Legare  was 
respectable ;  and  in  great  cases,  his  elaborate  style  of  preparation  made  him 
a  formidable  opponent. 

"As  a  statesman  I  think  the  finest  monument  of  his  powers  is  his  speech  in 
Congress  on  the  Sub-Treasury.  It  is  formal,  elementary,  and  scholastic,  but 
able,  and  at  times  brilliant.  His  politics,  as  displayed  in  various  essays  and 
reviews,  were  profound  and  intelligent;  but  it  always  seemed  as  if  he  had 
settled  his  views  of  the  present  times  upon  opinions  derived  from  history,  and 
not  that,  like  Machiavelli,  he  had  informed  his  judgment  on  occurrences  in 
history  by  suggestions  drawn  from  his  own  observation.  Still,  by  any  method 
to  have  formed  sound  principles  on  government  and  society,  in  the  unfavorable 
circumstances  in  which  he  was  placed,  was  an  indication  of  extraordinary 
powers.  He  triumphed  over  disadvantages  of  position,  connections,  and 
party ;  and  was  among  the  wisest  men  of  the  South.  Yet  he  appears,  like 
Mr.  Hamilton  and  Mr.  Ames,  to  have  been  of  a  too  desponding  temperament; 
to  have  magnified  dangers  that  threatened  our  young  energies,  and  to  have 
lacked  faith  in  our  system,  after  it  had  passed  some  of  the  strongest  trials  to 
which  it  was  reasonable  to  suppose  it  would  ever  be  subjected. 

"  As  a  classical  scholar  Mr.  Legare  made  great  pretension,  but  there  is 
nothing  in  his  works  to  prove  that  he  was  here  superior  or  even  equal  to  several 
of  his  countrymen.  His  proficiency  partook  of  the  dryness  and  severity  of  his 
character.  He  studied  rather  as  a  grammarian  than  as  a  man  of  taste.  Ho 
may  have  been  accurate,  but  he  was  not  elegant.  He  writes  often  about  the 
Greeks  and  Latins,  but  he  had  never  caught  the  spirit  and  sentiment  of  classical 
enthusiasm.  We  miss  the  fine  felicity  of  illustration,  the  apt  quotation,  the 
brilliant  allusion,  which  are  so  attractive  in  the  writings  of  one  whose  heart 
and  fancy  have  dwelt  familiarly  in  the  clime  of  antiquity.  He  is  not  betrayed 
as  a  visitor  to  the  halls  of  the  past  by  the  smell  of  aloes  and  cassia  hanging  about 
his  garments,  caught  from  the  ivory  palaces  whereby  they  have  made  him  glad. 
We  know  the  fact  by  his  constantly  informing  us  of  it,  and  because  he  describes 
the  localities  with  the  precision  of  one  who  must  have  observed,  chiefly  for  the 
purpose  of  making  a  report.  The  most  striking  passage  in  his  writings  on  a 
classical  subject  is  that  relating  to  Catullus,  in  his  criticism  of  Dunlap's  His 
tory  of  Ancient  Literature.  The  remarks  on  that  poet  are  original,  beautiful, 
and  undoubtedly  just." 

But  our  limits  forbid  us  to  pursue  more  extensively  this  sur 
vey  of  American  writers.  Of  Longfellow,  Sanderson,  Hooker, 
Hoffman,  and  others,  Mr.  Griswold  has  given  interesting  and 
generally  accurate  estimates ;  and  as  he  always  presents  a  speci 
men  of  the  author  whom  he  judges,  so  as  to  submit  himself  to  the 
test  of  direct  verification  by  the  reader,  he  deserves  to  be  called, 
since  Luke  Milbourne,  "the  fairest  of  critics." 


.  29.]    FOREST  LEAVES,  AND  OTHER  POEMS.         55 

The  data  which  he  gives  arc  sufficient  to  bring  before  the 
reader  the  history  of  American  letters  through  the  departments 
of  Statesmanship,  Philosophy  and  Religion,  as  well  as  the 
history,  condition  and  prospects  of  our  Legal,  Historical,  Ro 
mantic,  JBsthetical  and  Miscellaneous  literature ;  and  to  show 
the  justness  of  his  assumption,  that  thus  far,  despite  of  all  that 
has  been  said  to  the  contrary  and  in  the  face  of  all  the  confessed 
obstacles  to  our  intellectual  progress,  we  have  done  more  than 
any  other  nation,  for  the  same  term  of  time,  in  the  various  fields 
of  investigation,  reflection,  imagination  and  taste. 

"We  take  leave  with  the  renewal  of  our  thanks  to  the  editor  for 
the  spirit  which  prompted,  and  our  respect  for  the  talents  and 
tempers  which  have  guided,  his  labors.  He  has  triumphed  over 
many  difficulties  ;  and  we  have  pleasure  in  commending  his  work 
to  the  perusal  of  all  who  are  interested  in  literature  and  criticism. 


FOREST  LEAVES,  AND  OTHER  POEMS.    By  MRS.  LYDIA  PEARSON. 

A  VOICE  from  the  forest !  or,  rather,  a  pleasant  sound  of  many 
voices,  swelling  in  plaintive  chaunt  through  the  solitary  woods 
at  evening,  and  throbbing  in  delicate  echoes  against  the  hills — 
kept  in  tune  by  the  harmony  of  an  uniform  sentiment,  whose 
key-note  still  is  melancholy  !  N"or  to  us  does  it  seem  wonderful, 
that  the  harp-strings  of  a  "  spirit  finely  touched,"  should  answer 
to  the  varying  airs  of  fortune  with  notes  forever  sad.  The  world, 
said  one  of  its  true  worldlings,  is  a  comedy  for  them  that  think, 
and  a  tragedy  to  those  that  feel :  we  might  add,  that,  to  the 
feeling  heart,  thought  serves  for  little  else  than  to  open  new 
passages  to  sympathy,  and  discover  remoter  sources  of  pain. 
Life — "  which,  to  every  one  that  breathes,  is  full  of  care" — must 
bring  to  one  inheriting,  as  this  lady  does,  the  darkly-glorious 
dower  of  genius,  such  shows,  such  glimpses,  such  suggestions  of 
fear  and  sadness,  as  the  rough  and  bustling  never  dream  of.  So 
refined  an  atmosphere  of  sensibility  as  attends  a  nature  like 
hers,  must  be  often  dimmed  by  clouds,  whose  duskiness  is  owing, 
not  to  their  own  thickness,  but  to  the  exquisite  purity  of  the 


56  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^ETAT.  29. 

medium  in  which  they  are  formed.  "  If  you  listen  to  David's 
harp,  touched  by  the  Holy  Ghost,"  says  Bacon,  "you  shall  hear 
as  many  hearse-like  airs  as  carolings ;"  and  to  those  prophet- 
souls  who  partake  a  portion  of  the  depth  and  foresight  of  the 
Divine  existence,  for  whom  a  veil  is  riven,  it  may  well  seem  as  if 
a  dirge  was  the  only  tribute  proper  for  the  past,  and  a  lamenta 
tion  the  fit  herald  of  the  future. 

We  have  heard  it  objected,  as  a  kind  of  moral  fault  against 
this  gentle  and  tender  poet,  that  the  tone  of  her  verse  is  sombre ; 
and  we  would  defend  her  from  so  strange  a  reproach,  by  ob 
serving  that  the  pensiveness  which  is  complained  of,  is  twin-born 
with  the  power  which  ought  to  be  admired,  and  is  inseparable 
from  it.  But  there  are  readers  enough  to  whom  this  plaintive 
tone  will  be  welcome.  Clouds  are  things  common  enough  in 
the  heaven  of  every  man's  prosperity ;  the  ray  which  can  turn 
those  clouds  into  spots  of  glory,  and  spectacles  of  magnificence, 
is  not  common. 


MEMOIR  OP  THE  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER  OF  PHILIP  SYNG  PHYSIC,  M.  D.    By 
*      J.  RANDOLPH,  M.  D. 

WE  have  been  much  gratified  by  this  notice  of  one  to  whose 
professional  sagacity,  in  former  years,  we  were  weightily  be 
holden,  and  of  whose  disinterested  kindness  we  shall  always 
retain  a  grateful  remembrance.  It  is  a  memorial  of  the  great 
est  physician  of  the  last  generation,  written  by  an  accomplished 
one  of  this.  It  is  able,  discriminating  and  valuable.  Our  own 
recollections  enable  us  to  verify  many  features  in  the  portrait. 
The  career  of  the  remarkable  person  who  is  the  subject  of  this 
interesting  sketch  furnishes  an  illustration  of  the  unquestionable 
truth,  that  to  the  constitution  of  a  great  practical  understanding, 
moral  qualities  must  contribute  even  more  largely  than  intel 
lectual  ones.  Indeed,  in  contemplating  the  ability  of  a  man  of 
the  first  order  of  professional  power,  we  are  at  a  loss,  many 
times,  to  determine  whether  the  peculiarities  which  make  his 
superiority,  ought  to  be  referred  to  one  class  or  to  the  other. 
In  those  lofty  regions  of  sincere  greatness,  the  two  blend  to- 


.  29.]  PHILIP  SYNG  PHYSIC,  M.  D.  57 

gether  into  one.  Those  who  looked  at  Dr.  Physic,  unreflect 
ingly,  might  have  thought  that  his  capacity  consisted  in  his 
habits  :  that  it  was  in  the  obstinate  scrutiny  into  the  facts  of  his 
cases — in  his  prolonged  and  unresting  consideration  of  those 
facts — and  the  earnest,  almost  devoted  attention  with  which 
every  case  was  followed  up — that  the  true  secret  of  the  marvellous 
skill  of  this  extraordinary  man  might  be  found.  But  that  would 
have  been  to  confound  the  power  itself,  with  the  conditions 
under  which  the  development  of  that  power  necessarily  took 
place  :  it  would  have  been  to  mistake  the  elements  which  a  plant 
appropriates  from  the  air  and  earth  in  aid  of  its  growth,  for  the 
living  principle  of  the  plant  itself.  The  truth  is,  that  the  mental 
vigor  of  Dr.  Physic  was  of  the  rarest  and  truest  kind :  his  in 
tellect  was  wonderfully  quick  and  far-ranging  in  its  suggestions, 
thorough  in  its  processes,  and  fearless  in  its  conclusions ;  but 
those  mental  habits  of  caution,  patience  and  inquiry,  were  the 
only  medium  in  which  these  qualities  could  work  out  their  best 
and  perfect  display.  Uncontrolled  by  that  discipline,  they  would 
have  resulted  in  an  ability  splendid  and  impracticable  ;  but  they 
would  not  have  filled  the  sphere  of  the  most  illustrious  pro 
fessional  excellence,  in  medicine,  that  this  country  has  ever  wit 
nessed.  It  must  be  remembered  that  the  power  to  examine 
minutely  and  reflect  slowly,  is,  itself,  a  species  of  genius ;  and, 
perhaps,  the  highest.  There  is  a  class  of  natures,  whose  intel 
lectual  action  is  of  an  electrical  kind — instant,  intense  and 
momentary:  there  is  another  sort,  in  whom  the  accumulation 
of  mental  energy  is  given  forth  with  the  gradual,  steady  and 
continuous  flow  of  a  galvanic  current.  One  is  more  startling  and 
impressive ;  the  useful  power  of  the  other  is  greater ;  both  are 
equally  divine.  The  well-known  observation  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton, 
in  relation  to  himself,  would  indicate  that  he  is  to  be  classed, 
with  Dr.  Physic,  in  the  latter  rank. 

Elegant  and  satisfactory  as  Dr.  Randolph's  Memoir  is,  in 
reference  to  the  design  and  purpose  which  he  contemplated,  we 
confess  that  we  are  hardly  willing  that  the  name  of  this  extra 
ordinary  and  admirable  man  should  go  down  to  future  times 
without  a  memorial  of  a  different  and  more  minute  and  detailed 


58  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^ETAT.  29. 

kind — such  an  exposition  of  the  particulars  of  his  life  and  con 
duct,  we  mean,  as  can  be  given  only  by  a  copious  biography, 
bringing  together  everything  that  journals,  correspondence,  or 
the  recollections  of  others,  can  furnish  for  the  completion  and 
illustration  of  the  portraiture.  We  are  aware  that  Dr.  Physic 
was  unwilling  that  his  private  letters  and  papers  should  be  laid 
before  the  public ;  and  this  reluctance  was  characteristic  of  a 
man  who  was  as  modest  as  he  was  able — whose  sensitiveness  in 
all  that  concerned  himself  was  as  keen,  as  his  energy  in  sup 
pressing  it,  where  it  might  be  prejudicial  to  others,  was  manly 
and  noble.  But  it  has  been  doubted  by  many  how  far,  in  any 
case,  the  commands  of  the  dead  should  operate  as  clogs  upon 
the  living,  when  the  interests  of  society  are  in  question :  for 
ourselves,  we  think  that  when  a  prohibition  of  this  kind  has  been 
prompted  only  by  the  extreme  sensibilities  of  the  person's  own 
diffidence,  it  ought  at  least  to  be  construed  with  the  utmost 
strictness.  We  often  violate  the  orders  of  the  living  when  they 
tend  to  the  unjust  suppression  of  their  proper  praise  and  reward, 
and  suppose  it  to  be  an  act  of  duty  on  our  part  to  do  so.  We 
would  recommend  the  limits  of  Dr.  Physic's  order  on  this  sub 
ject,  to  be  very  critically  examined,  and  the  best  advice  to  be 
taken  as  to  the  necessity,  in  point  of  propriety  and  good  faith, 
of  being  governed  by  it :  for  not  without  something  like  a 
moral  necessity,  would  we  forego  the  benefit  of  giving  to  the 
world,  by  the  publication  of  letters  and  other  documents,  an 
exhibition  of  the  manner  in  which  this  great  man  lived  among 
his  contemporaries,  diffusing  benefits  and  receiving  gratitude — 
of  the  extent  of  his  professional  generosity — the  incorruptible 
integrity  of  his  motives — and,  above  all,  the  unremitting  in- 
tenseness  with  which  the  obligations  of  professional  responsi 
bility  rested  upon  his  conscience,  as  a  necessity  of  his  nature, 
and  almost  as  a  condition  of  his  existence.  This  lesson,  so 
invaluable  in  this  country,  and  at  this  time,  is  the  most  rarely 
given.  For  it  happens,  unfortunately,  though  perhaps  as  a  na 
tural  result  of  things,  that  it  is  this  class,  of  which  the  personal 
character  and  private  history  would  be  studied  by  the  world  at 
large,  with  the  very  highest  interest  and  advantage,  whose 


.ETAT.  29.]  PHILIP  SYNG  PHYSIC,  M.  D.  59 

biographies  are  the  most  seldom  written,  at  least  with  any  con 
siderable  degree  of  minuteness  and  precision.  The  history  of  a 
soldier,  or  a  man  of  letters,  may  be  said,  to  some  extent,  to 
write  itself :  the  former,  in  those  actions  which  remain  as  monu 
ments  among  mankind,  and  the  latter,  in  those  productions 
which  bear  upon  their  surface  the  evidence  and  the  measure 
of  all  that  was  extraordinary  in  him  from  whom  they  proceeded. 
But  the  qualities  that  work  themselves  out  in  a  great  profes 
sional  career,  such  as  that  of  an  eminent  lawyer  or  physician, 
are  of  a  less  distinct  and  manifest  sort.  Silent,  complex,  gradual 
in  their  influence,  their  combined  effect  is  seen  in  the  command 
ing  character  which  attracts  the  confidence,  and  sways  with 
unacknowledged  but  boundless  control,  the  minds  and  feelings 
of  the  community ;  but  the  definite,  individual  form  and  nature 
of  these  properties  in  their  true  analysis,  can  be  known  entirely 
by  those  only  who  have  witnessed  their  operation  long  and 
inspected  their  relations  closely.  But,  either  the  skill  to  note, 
or  the  disposition  to  follow,  or  the  leisure  to  record  observa 
tions  of  this  kind,  is  commonly  wanting  among  the  friends  of 
these  eminent  persons :  and  the  interesting  knowledge  of  that 
discipline  by  which  the  character  has  slowly  been  constructed, 
of  the  uses  by  which  its  perfection  has  been  kept  up,  and  the 
traits  by  which  its  peculiarities  were  wont  to  illustrate  them 
selves — which  the  philosopher  might  profitably  have  inspected, 
and  which  the  student  of  morals  would  have  loved  to  linger 
upon — is  lost  forever ;  society  retaining  nothing  of  the  richest 
treasure  that  it  possessed,  save  the  empty  name  by  which  it  was 
surrounded.  In  the  few  instances  in  which  a  complete  picture 
of  the  private  life  and  daily  conduct  of  an  eminent  professional 
man  has  been  given  to  the  public — as  in  the  recent  case  of  Lord 
Eldon's  life — the  theme  has  awakened  an  interest  not  inferior  to 
that  which  attends  the  narrative  of  the  most  stirring  deeds.  In 
the  case  of  Dr.  Physic,  if  it  can  be  considered  as  a  task  proper 
to  be  undertaken,  no  man  would  be  more  proper  to  do  it  than 
Dr.  Randolph  himself.  His  mind  has  been  schooled  in  the  pro 
fessional  learning  of  two  continents :  he  has  added  the  best 
suggestions  of  the  science  of  the  old  world  to  the  varied  expe- 


60  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  29. 

rience  of  the  new ;  and  is  fitted  by  intelligence,  acquisitions  and 
situation,  to  do  justice  to  all  the  excellence  of  the  subject.  The 
undertaking  would  be  equally  safe  in  the  hands  of  Dr.  J.  K. 
Mitchell,  so  well  and  honorably  known  to  our  whole  country  as 
one  of  the  most  eminent  of  its  physicians,  and  specially  known 
to  the  younger  portion  of  our  medical  practitioners,  of  whom  so 
many  have  received  instruction  at  his  hands,  as  the  accomplished 
Professor  of  the  Theory  and  Practice  of  Medicine  in  the  Jeffer 
son  Medical  College  of  Philadelphia.  He  holds  the  pen  of  a 
scholar  and  a  man  of  genius.  Saved  by  his  own  merited  dis 
tinction  from  any  liability  to  professional  or  personal  jealousies, 
he  would  approach  the  subject  with  "that  candor  which,"  ac 
cording  to  a  great  authority,  "  always  accompanies  great  abili 
ties  :"  and  the  want  of  that  minute  information  in  respect  to 
many  things,  which  only  a  contemporary  experience  could 
bestow,  would  be  supplied  in  him,  to  a  great  extent,  by  the 
superior  "  ardor  of  sympathetic  genius."  We  commend  the 
suggestion,  heartily,  to  the  consideration  of  these  gentlemen. 


THE  POEMS  OF  FITZ-GREENE  HALLECK.     New  York,  Harpers. 

THE  dominion  of  poetry  is  as  boundless  as  the  race.  Of  her 
sceptre  less  cannot  be  said,  than  that  its  heritage  is  the  sove 
reignty  of  the  world,  its  possession  the  loyalty  of  every  human 
heart.  Various,  therefore,  of  necessity,  and  diversified  as  the 
nature  of  man,  are  the  shapes,  and  aspects,  and  characters,  in 
which  are  put  forth  the  manifestations  of  that  influence  which 
means  to  be  triumphant  wherever  it  is  exerted.  For  ourselves, 
we  profess  a  worship  as  catholic  as  the  spirit  of  this  changeful 
deity ;  for  every  form  she  takes,  we  own  a  separate  taste.  Poetry 
is,  to  us,  like  the  enchanting  mistress  of  a  youthful  cavalier, 
whose  figure  fascinates  in  every  dress,  whose  features  charm  in 
all  their  moods.  Whether  this  glorious  child  of  heaven — majestic 
in  exalting  loveliness,  unfolds  her  snowy  robes  upon  the  breezes 
of  the  evening,  and,  floating  off  from  the  earth,  a  re-ascended 


>£TAT.  29.]  POEMS  OF  FITZ-GREENE  HALLECK.  Ql 

goddess,  smiles  down  upon  us  from  the  golden  sky  of  Spenser's 
imagination — or,  whether,  with  Milton,  she  expands  the  soul 
into  a  vast  and  solemn  cathedral,  in  which  every  mortal  thought, 
and  sentiment,  and  sensibility,  bows  down  in  awe,  while  the 
sounding  inspiration  rolls  along  the  columned  roof — and  swells 
through  every  aisle,  and  passage,  and  gallery  of  human  con 
sciousness — or,  like  Shakspeare,  exhibits  no  picture  to  us,  but 
the  real  earth,  made  glorious  through  the  medium  of  intense 
imagination — or,  with  Dryden's  nervous  hand,  strikes  from  the 
lyre  the  ringing  tones  of  manly  sense  and  earnest  passion — or, 
like  Pope,  masking  divinity  in  the  familiar  and  the  mortal,  and 
hiding  celestial  sensibilities  beneath  the  lawn  and  velvet  of  a 
court-costume,  she  fashions  the  heaven-shed  essence  of  immortal 
truth  into  glittering  shafts  of  wit,  and  uses  the  choicest  pearls 
from  the  paradisal  streams  of  inspiration,  for  missiles  to  assail 
the  multitude — whether,  in  some  one  of  these,  or  in  yet  another 
of  her  myriad  guises,  her  presence  enriches  the  breeze  with 
fragrance,  or  makes  golden  the  air  of  common  thought  and  daily 
feeling — we  claim  an  ability  to  know,  and  an  inclination  to 
acknowledge  her,  as  the  apparent  deity  and  queen  of  human 
sensibility.  In  some  aspects,  undoubtedly,  she  is  more  im 
pressive  to  different  persons  than  she  is  in  others :  to  us,  she 
approaches,  in  all  her  pomp  of  charms,  and  in  the  fullest  luxu 
riance  of  attractions,  when  she  seizes  the  trumpet  of  the  lyric 
muse,  and  sounds  forth  a  strain  that  "bids  the  heavens  be 
mute." 

Fitz-Greene  Halleck  !  —  The  Tyrtaeus  of  America — ac 
knowledged  master  of  the  western  lyre  ! — a  magic  name  to  us, 
for  it  comes  charged  with  all  the  remembered  and  still  vital 
enthusiasms  of  youth,  and  passion,  and  genial  admiration.  The 
critics  may  rehearse  the  praises  of  modern  English  bards,  and  we 
shall  suffer  them  in  patience ;  but  until  we  have  forgotten  the 
intense  surprise  and  joy  with  which  we  first  heard  "  at  school," 
the  gorgeous  yet  simple  ode  of  "Bozzaris,"  and  learned  that  its 
author  was  a  modern,  and  an  American  ;  or  can  read  the  lines 
of  "Alnwick  Castle,"  or  "  Allovvay  Kirk,"  or  those  on  the  death 
of  Drake,  without  a  tumult  of  emotions,  we  must  be  permitted 
6 


G2  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^ETAT.  29. 

to  reply  to  all  their  eulogies — "Beneath  the  Lesbian  singer  I" — 
"  That  poetry  is  the  best,  which  moves  us  most,  and  which 
comes  nearest  to  God,  who  is  the  source  of  all  power."  We 
say,  also,  that  that  is  the  best  which  has  the  most  simplicity ; 
which  is  the  most  effective  with  the  greatest  directness;  and 
reaches  the  highest  flights  of  fancy  with  the  least  sacrifice  of 
nature  and  truth.  That  power  of  pleasure  which  springs  into 
our  bosoms  from  the  lines  of  Halleck,  does  not  arise  from  remote 
combinations  of  thought  or  novel  shapes  of  art,  but  from  general 
and  genuine  feelings  being  disengaged  in  absolute  entireness, 
and  shot  forth  with  the  intenseness  of  perfect  purity,  and  from 
the  plain  and  ordinary  phrases  of  daily  language  being  charged 
and  vivified  with  all  the  energy  with  which  human  speech  can 
swell.  He  does  not  seek  to  reclude  those  sacred  fountains  of 
the  moral  muse,  whose  hidden  sources  can  be  unsealed  only  by 
the  finger  of  philosophy ;  nor  does  he  labor  to  subtilize  emotion 
into  the  finest  exquisiteness  of  thought,  or  impart  the  sensu- 
ousness  of  art  to  the  quaintest  apprehension  of  the  metaphysical 
faculty — but,  musing  within  his  own  heart,  like  the  royal 
psalmist,  in  moody  earnestness  of  passion,  at  length  the  fire 
kindles,  and,  rugged,  vehement  and  irresistible,  the  blazing 
words  leap  forth  in  music,  as  the  bolt  leaps  from  the  sombre 
cloud,  illustrating  all  the  sublimity  of  light,  and  sound,  and 
motion. 

The  style  of  composition  to  which  the  powers  of  Halleck  have 
been  devoted,  is  capable  of  the  highest  and  severest  polish,  and 
it  so  happens  that  many  of  those  English  poets  who  have  ex 
celled  in  it — Gray,  Campbell,  Collins,  and,  with  less  vigor  than 
any  of  them,  Wordsworth — have  possessed  and  put  forth  the 
most  extraordinary  powers  of  delicate  and  faultless  finish.  Mere 
substantial  strength  will  lift  a  work  of  art  far  up  into  the 
empyrean  of  renown ;  but  nothing  can  set  it  safe  against  the 
shocks,  and  pressures,  and  attritions  of  time,  but  the  smoothing 
down  of  every  roughness,  the  rounding  off  of  every  turn,  and 
the  rubbing  away  of  every  adhering  defect.  Finish  is,  to  works 
of  art,  the  enamel  which  defies  the  corrosion  of  ages. 

Harpers'  edition  of  Ilalleck's  Poems  is,  in  respect  to  appear- 


JETAT.  29.]  PAPERS  OF  OLIVER  WOLCOTT.  63 

ance,  worthy  of  the  poet,  p,nd  creditable  to  the  gentlemen  from 
whose  press  it  proceeds.  The  gratification  of  the  senses  has  so 
much  to  do  with  even  the  mental  perception  of  the  beauties 
of  works  of  elegant  taste,  that  a  poet  ought  to  consider  the  style 
of  publication  of  his  works,  part  of  the  works  themselves.  A 
poem  ill-printed,  is  like  an  overture  badly  played.  The  finest 
performance  cannot  redeem  a  musical  composition  essentially 
worthless ;  but  a  slovenly  execution  may  destroy  the  effect  of 
the  noblest  harmonies  that  ever  flowed  from  the  genius  of  a 
composer. 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE  ADMINISTRATIONS  OF  WASHIKGTON  AND  JOHN  ADAMS.  Edited 
from  the  Papers  of  OLIVER  WOLCOTT,  Secretary  of  the  Treasury.  By  GEORGE 
GIBBS.  In  two  vols.  New  York,  printed  for  the  Subscribers,  1846.  Phila 
delphia,  sold  by  JOHX  PEXIXGTON. 

THE  events  which  secured  to  this  country  a  popular  constitu 
tion  as  a  possession  forever,  made  every  American  a  member  of 
the  most  difficult,  responsible  and  dignified  profession  which  the 
ability  or  virtue  of  man  can  illustrate — the  profession  of  politics. 
By  the  fundamental  law  of  the  government  we  are  all  "  heredi 
tary  statesmen ;"  we  are  all  advisers  and  active  directors  of  the 
administration.  "  La  vie  du  plus  simple  particulier  dans  une 
rtpublique,"  said  the  elder  and  wiser  of  the  Mirabeaus,  "  est  plus 
compliquee  que  celle  d>un  homme  en  place  dans  une  monarchic." 
Of  this  calling  of  politics  may  be  said  what  Augustus  Schlegel 
has  said  of  authorship,  that  according  to  the  spirit  in  which  it  is 
pursued,  it  is  an  infamy,  a  pastime,  a  day-labor,  a  handicraft,  an 
art,  a  science,  a  virtue.  It  is  of  the  first  importance  to  society, 
and  every  one  in  it,  that  the  character  and  tone  of  this  profes 
sion  should  be  raised,  and  maintained  at  an  elevation ;  that  its 
members  should  be  capable  of  dealing  in  it  with  competent 
ability,  and  with  that  temper  of  confidence  that  rejects  and  de 
spises  tricks  and  intrigue ;  that  they  should  be  always  feeling 
that  it  involves  principles,  and  not  merely  personalities  ;  that  it 
is  a  great  moral  and  intellectual  science,  in  which  passions  and 
interests  must  play  in  perpetual  subordination  to  the  permanent 


64  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  29. 

laws  of  wisdom  and  truth  ;  and  that  all  its  acts  and  all  its  con 
tests  stand  in  such  intimate  relations  with  the  lofty  interests 
of  human  virtue  and  human  greatness,  that  the  humblest  efforts 
in  its  cause  partake  of  dignity,  and  its  least  rewards  are  truly 
honorable.  Nothing  would  open  and  ventilate  the  politics  of 
this  day  more  happily. — raise,  expand  and  purify  them — give 
them  higher  significance  and  greater  weight,  than  a  study  of  the 
characters  and  actions  of  those  who  founded  our  constitution, 
and  watched  over  the  earliest  development  of  its  principles.  To 
comprehend  the  distinction  and  the  permanent  relation  between 
the  great  parties  that  have  divided  and  will  always  divide  this 
country,  it  is  indispensable  to  resort  to  the  conferences  and  the 
conduct  of  those  who,  in  the  brighter  and  better  time  of  the 
commonwealth,  explored  the  depths  of  that  subject  with  the 
sagacity  of  philosophers,  and  illustrated  its  extent  upon  the 
largest  scale  of  statemanship.  If  we  would  learn  how  to  wage 
war,  and  not  to  huckster  it — if  we  would  see  the  difference  be 
twixt  that  kind  of  diplomacy  which  is  suggested  by  honor  and 
conducted  by  wisdom,  and  that  kind  which  for  paltry  ends 
employs  the  wretched  arts  alternately  to  bubble  and  to  bully — 
the  public  history  and  the  private  writings  of  those  who  formed 
the  entourage  of  Washington  will  afford  us  important  in 
struction. 

"  I  am  not  fonder  of  simpletons  in  politics  than  other  people 
are,"  says  M.  Capefigue,  "but,  for  the  honor  of  mankind,  I  am 
willing  to  believe  that  men  may  be  clever  and  still  retain  perfect 
probity  and  good  faith."  This  difficult  art,  to  carry  into  public 
life  the  morals  and  the  sentiments  that  give  grace  to  private 
character ;  to  join  sincerity  and  directness  of  personal  demeanor 
with  effectiveness  and  force  of  political  action ;  to  gain  the  out 
ward  with  neither  soilure  nor  loss  of  a  more  sacred  excellence 
within,  seemed  to  be  the  native  inspiration  of  these  extraordinary 
men.  They  formed  a  band  of  "  Happy  Warriors  :" 

""Whose  high  endeavors  were  an  inward  light 
That  made  the  path  before  them  always  bright. 
More  skillful  in  self-knowledge,  even  more  pure 
As  tempted  more : 


.  29.]  PAPERS  OF  OLIVER  WOLCOTT.  65 

Who  in  a  state  where  men  are  tempted  still 
To  evil  for  a  guard  against  worse  ill, 
And  what  in  quality  or  act  is  best 
Doth  seldom  on  a  right  foundation  rest, 
Still  fixed  good  on  good  alone,  and  owe 
To  virtue  every  triumph  that  they  know." 


Mr.  "Wolcott  was  one  of  the  most  sterling  of  this  illustrious 
company :  and  the  respect  and  confidence  which  he  enjoyed,  in 
an  eminent  degree,  on  the  part  of  his  greatest  contemporaries, 
such  as  Hamilton,  Ames  and  Marshall,  have  enabled  his  de 
scendant  to  present  to  the  public  a  correspondence  of  remark 
able  extent  and  value.  He  had  not  the  inventive,  or  rather  the 
creative  faculties  which  enabled  Hamilton  to  institute  that 
system  of  finance  which  brought  the  nation  out  of  bankruptcy, 
and  has  kept  it  from  recurring  to  it ;  but  he  had  a  perfect  com 
prehension  of  the  principles  upon  which  it  was  to  be  administered, 
and  executive  talents  probably  not  inferior  to  those  of  Mr. 
Hamilton  himself.  On  the  death  of  Mr.  Eveleigh,  Hamilton 
solicited  from  Washington  the  elevation  of  Wolcott  from  the 
post  of  auditor  to  that  of  comptroller  of  the  Treasury,  and  used 
this  language  in  his  letter  to  the  President : — "  Mr.  Wolcott 's 
conduct  in  the  station  he  now  fills  has  been  that  of  an  excellent 
officer.  It  has  not  only  been  good,  but  distinguished.  It  has 
combined  all  the  requisites  that  can  be  desired ;  moderation 
with  firmness,  liberality  with  exactness,  indefatigable  industry 
with  an  accurate  and  sound  discernment,  a  thorough  knowledge 
of  business,  and  a  remarkable  spirit  of  order  and  arrangement. 
Indeed,  I  ought  to  say  that  I  owe  very  much  of  whatever  suc 
cess  may  have  attended  the  merely  executive  operations  of  the 
department  to  Mr.  Wolcott."  That  such  commendation  should 
have  introduced  the  subject  of  it  to  the  highest  honors  which 
Washington  could  bestow,  was  equally  honorable  to  Mr.  Ham 
ilton  and  Mr.  Wolcott. 

Mr.  Gibbs  has  written,  of  course,  with  something  of  inherited 
partiality  for  the  system  of  which  his  ancestor  formed  a  promi 
nent  part ;  but  his  work  makes  no  departure  from  candor  or 
fairness.  The  documents  which  he  gives  to  the  world  certainly 
G* 


66  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [JETAT.  29. 

bear  with  not  trifling  weight  upon  some  men  around  whose 
names  the  honor  of  the  nation  still  lingers  ;  the  tone  of  the  pub 
lication  is  decidedly  in  favor  of  one  set  of  persons  and  against 
their  adversaries  :  but,  upon  a  careful  review,  we  cannot  discover 
that  the  biographer  has,  by  arguments  or  suggestions  of  his 
own,  changed  or  disturbed  the  impression  which  the  documents 
themselves  produce.  He  has  been  faithful  to  disclose  the  evi 
dence  on  which  his  comments  are  founded,  and,  while  he  enforces 
it,  we  cannot  perceive  that  he  departs  from  its  true  character. 
The  arrangement  of  the  materials  is  judicious,  and  the  narrative 
portions  possess  considerable  brilliancy.  The  work  is  highly 
creditable  to  Mr.  Gibbs  in  a  literary  point  of  view,  and  may  be 
regarded  altogether  as  decidedly  the  most  valuable  contribu 
tion  that  has  been  made  to  our  historical  literature  in  several 
years.* 

*  In  no  part  of  our  national  literature  did  the  youthful  author  of  these 
papers  take  a  more  sincere  interest  than  in  that  which  would  do  honor  to  the 
founders  and  first  administrator  of  our  Republic,  hy  the  publication  of  their 
yet  inedited  correspondence.  His  own  MS.  collections  on  this  subject  are 
of  an  incredible  extent,  considering  how  much  his  short  life  was  engaged  by 
other  subjects.  Indeed,  he  had  drafted  the  "  Protocol  of  a  Society  for  the 
publication  of  letters  and  other  documents  of  the  War  of  the  Revolution,"  an 
association  which  he  was  about  to  organize,  and  a  sketch  of  which  is  given  in 
an  Appendix  (A.),  as  a  suggestion  for  others  on  this  subject. 

The  commendation  above  given  of  Mr.  Gibbs's  valuable  work,  was  thrown 
off  for  some  sheet  of  the  day.  In  a  familiar  letter  he  expresses  himself  as 
follows :  "  It  is  gratifying  to  find  that  the  truth  is  at  last  beginning  to  be 
spoken  in  an  audible  tone  about  the  parties  and  the  men  that  distinguished 
the  early  days  of  our  republic.  There  are,  probably,  ten  thousand  persons  in 
the  United  States  who,  in  their  private  minds,  think  about  the  Federalists  pre. 
cisely  as  Mr.  Gibbs  has  written;  but  utterance  is  never  given  to  such  senti- 
ments,  except  in  a  kind  of  confidential  whisper,  when  two  or  three  of  them, 
are  met  in  social  privacy.  Mr.  Gibbs  has  expressed  the  truth  on  these  subjects, 
and  what  everybody  knows  to  be  the  truth ;  and,  as  an  example  of  fearles? 
declaration  of  the  truth,  his  work  deserves  to  receive  commendation  and  sup 
port.  Nothing  strikes  me  as  of  worse  omen  in  the  present  condition  of  the 
country,  than  the  circumstance  that  all  parties  have  agreed  to  suppress  all 
reference  to  Federal  principles  and  policy,  as  a  source  of  instruction  and  a 
guide  in  action.  If  redemption  is  ever  to  come  to  the  honor  and  integrity 
of  the  national  administration — if  the  country  is  ever  to  be  recovered  from 
the  degradation  under  which  it  labors — if  a  high  tone  is  ever  again  to  be 


.  33.]  WASHINGTON  IRVING.  67 

"WASHINGTON  IRVING:  nis  WORKS,  GENIUS,  AND  CHARACTER. 

IN  nature,  in  personal  character,  and  in  every  department  of 
art,  there  is  a  quality  of  excellence  which,  even  in  the  degree 
of  its  perfection,  disappoints  the  efforts  of  description,  and 
eludes  the  analysis  of  the  critic,  because  it  consists,  not  in  the 
magnitude,  energy,  or  splendor  of  the  separate  elements,  but  in 

given  to  the  counsels  and  the  conduct  of  the  government — the  elevating  and 
restoring  influence  must  proceed  from  a  recurrence  to  the  wisdom,  the  purity, 
and  the  loftiness  of  aim,  and  temper,  and  motive,  in  which  the  Constitution 
•was  founded,  and  the  Union  at  first  conducted.  Those  who  still  can  feel  the 
ineffable  disgrace  of  such  a  rule  as  we  were  subject  to  until  John  Tyler  and 
his  party  were  driven  from  the  capitol,  must  convince  themselves  of  the  truth 
of  Machiavelli's  remark,  that,  in  the  decline  of  a  state,  it  is  necessary  often  to 
revert  to  the  first  principles  upon  which  it  was  founded,  for  we  must  know 
the  beginning  of  our  greatness,  if  we  would  ever  come  to  the  end  of  our  errors. 
We  must  re-organize  the  Federal  party;  not  from  any  hope  of  gaining  thereby 
possession  of  the  government,  but  for  the  purpose  of  bringing  the  weight  of  an 
united  public  opinion  to  act  upon  the  politics  of  the  country.  The  indirect 
control  which  might  thus  be  exercised  over  an  administration,  would  be  of 
immense  service.  The  power  of  truth  and  honor,  in  every  community,  is  very 
great,  if  there  be  somebody  in  the  foreground  to  represent  them,  to  invoke 
attention  to  them,  to  give  voice  to  their  judgments  upon  resolutions  and 
measures. 

"  Gibbs's  book,  you  will  find,  contains  many  important  documents,  now  given 
to  the  public  for  the  first  time.  Wolcott  was  on  terms  of  close  official  and 
personal  relation  with  most  of  those  who  made  that  period  an  age  of  so  much 
greatness ;  and  the  correspondence  of  Hamilton,  Ames,  and  Marshall,  neces 
sarily  gives  us  an  enlarged  acquaintance  with  the  design  and  characters  of 
those  who  then  commanded  the  confidence  and  respect  of  the  nation.  The  more 
I  learn  of  these  extraordinary  men,  the  more  nearly  I  am  brought  to  see  their 
universal  intelligence,  their  various  and  ready  abilities,  and  their  high  and 
earnest  patriotism,  the  more  I  am  impressed  with  admiration,  and  the  more 
earnestly  I  desire  to  have  every  record  and  every  monument  of  their  greatness 
brought  out  to  the  knowledge  and  attention  of  the  country.  There  are  many 
collections  of  papers  yet  in  private  hands,  which  the  owners  are  willing  to 
make  public,  but  have  not  ability  to  do  so.  There  ought  to  be  a  fund  connected 
with  the  Historical  Societies  of  Philadelphia  and  New  York,  for  the  purpose 
of  printing  the  correspondence  of  early  statesmen ;  or,  at  least,  of  aiding  in 
the  publication.  A  moderate  annual  subscription  to  such  a  fund,  by  members 
and  others,  would  enable  the  society  to  rescue  many  valuable  collections, 
which  ore  now  hidden  in  obscurity,  and  which  in  a  few  years  will  be  entirely 
destroyed,  to  the  unavailing  regret  of  all  who  come  after  us." — ED. 


68  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [JEiAT.  33. 


the  exquisiteness  of  the  proportion,  the  harmony  of  the  combi 
nation,  the  fineness  of  the  pervading  tone,  the  gentle  animation 
with  which  it  flatters  each  sympathy  into  delighted  calmness, 
and  wakes  no  uncomfortable  earnestness  of  reaction.  It  ab 
sorbs  and  holds  all  our  sensibilities,  yet  seems  to  be  below, 
rather  than  above,  the  measure  of  power,  with  which  our  minds 
are  familiar,  and  to  fall  within  the  range  of  our  own  ambition, 
desire,  or  conception.  More  admiration  would  disturb  the 
repose  of  our  satisfaction  ;  a  more  vigorous  address  to  our 
intellectual  apprehension  would  change  the  nature  of  the 
enjoyment.  The  ordinary  degrees  of  this  character  we  call  the 
agreeable;  the  more  poignant  exhibitions  of  it  we  qualify  as 
charming. 

To  this  class  or  order  belong  especially  the  writings  of  Mr. 
Irving.  Their  effect  is  uniformly  pleasant  :  —  we  read  with  per 
petual  interest,  and  with  the  certainty  of  delight.  Yet  are  we 
scarcely  inclined  to  commend  anything  else  than  the  general 
and  composite  impression  resultant  from  the  whole.  We  are 
impressed  with  no  very  vivid  respect  for  the  author's  mental 
powers  or  accomplishments,  and  carry  away  no  decided  impres 
sions  of  vigorous  or  dexterous  or  felicitous  effort.  We  are  a  little 
annoyed  at  being  called  upon  for  the  reasons  of  our  exclama 
tions  of  pleasure.  If  asked  our  opinion  of  him,  in  the  absence 
of  his  works,  our  impulse  would  perhaps  be  to  speak  some 
what  depreciatingly.  Yet  while  we  read  we  were  fascinated  ; 
and  the  enchantment  shall  assuredly  renew  itself  so  often  as 
we  come  within  the  action  of  the  strains  that  "  lap  us  in  Ely 
sium."  They  are  productions  which  communicate  pleasure, 
rather  than  excite  enthusiasm,  and  are  more  enjoyed  than  eulo 
gized.  The  mystery  of  the  performer  seems  to  consist,  not  in 
creating  an  extraordinary  work,  but  in  pre-disposing  us,  by 
some  magic  touch,  to  be  ravished  with  that  which  is  not 
greatly  remote  from  common  and  moderate.  The  perusal 
of  Mr.  Irving's  writings  is  like  walking  in  some  familiar 
lawn,  or  ordinary  scene  of  nature,  on  a  fine,  soft  morning  in  the 
early  spring.  Usual  sights  are  around  us,  accustomed  objects 
greet  our  senses  ;  but  to  our  transported  nature  they  seem  to 


.  33.]  WASHINGTON  IRVING.  69 

be  invested  with  influences,  spiritual  in  their  fineness,  and  spi 
ritual  in  their  power.  A  baptism  from  on  high  seems  to  descend 
upon  our  being,  and  to  regenerate  it  into  the  vivid  delicacy  of 
childhood's  sensibilities  ;  and  sense,  as  it  transmits  to  the  mind 
the  impressions  of  outward  things,  refracts  them  into  splendor. 
The  grass  is  edged  with  a  bright,  glittering  green  that  fairly 
bewilders  the  sight ;  the  budding  trees  impregnate  the  air  with 
a  vital  richness,  which  is  not  an  odor,  yet  is  rarer  and  more 
intoxicating  than  all  odors  ;  the  cloudless  sky,  like  an  expanse 
of  airy  waters,  wafting  our  consciousness  into  paradise,  spreads 
around  us,  rather  than  above  us ;  the  woodsman's  axe,  the  mur 
mur  of  the  full  stream,  the  lowing  of  cattle, — for  sounds  seem 
to  be  enchanted  into  wandering  messengers  of  eternity — startle 
us  with  weird  impressions  that  carry  us  beyond  the  confines  of 
the  material,  the  limited  and  the  mortal.  A  lustrous  atmos 
phere  brings  out  each  object  truly,  yet  under  such  strong,  aerial 
perspective,  as  renders  everything  picture-like.  The  softness 
of  a  dream  envelopes  the  scene  ;  but  "  the  glory  and  the  fresh 
ness"  of  an  existence  as  much  more  fervent  than  reality,  as 
reality  itself  is  more  fervent  than  a  dream. 

The  acceptableness  of  Mr.  Irving's  works — the  peculiar  at 
traction  which  they  have  for  every  class  of  readers — illustrates 
an  important  truth  in  criticism,  too  much  overlooked  by  writers, 
that  in  literature,  more  depends  on  manner  than  on  style ;  and 
manner  is  an  affair  of  the  character  more  than  of  the  intellect. 
Power,  however  great,  if  it  be  turbulent  and  unchastised,  stimu 
lates  the  passions  while  it  impresses  the  mind  ;  its  moral  influ 
ence  excites  more  appetency  than  its  mental  action  satisfies ; 
and  it  leaves  the  reader  disappointed  and  discontented  in  the 
very  measure  in  which  he  has  been  moved.  On  the  other  hand, 
there  is  a  tone  of  decency,  decorum,  refined  reserve,  and  inten 
tional  restraint  in  composition,  which  induces  in  the  reader  an 
answering  concentration  and  restriction  in  feeling,  by  which  he 
is  in  a  situation  to  enjoy  quiet  and  moderate  interests  with  a 
delight  at  once  earnest  and  calm.  Something  akin  to  this  is 
felt  in  the  company  of  high-bred  people.  The  temper  of  mode 
rated  animation,  the  controlled  and  self-guarding  attention,  the 


70  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  33. 

avoidance  of  strong  efforts,  and  the  care  with  which  each  one 
seems  to  play  below  his  full  power,  the  subdued  key  to  which 
everything  is  pitched,  tends  to  create  in  each  person  a  certain 
strenuous  repose  of  the  feelings  which  causes  commonplace 
things  in  such  a  sphere  to  inspire  pleasure  and  respect.  That 
state  in  which  sensibility  is  excited,  and  then  voluntarily  checked 
and  drawn  back  upon  itself,  is  the  one  of  greatest  impressibility 
to  what  is  beautiful  and  intellectual.  How  remarkable  and  how 
delightful  is  the  moral  charm  diffused  by  the  mere  personal  de 
portment  of  a  refined  and  thorough-bred  gentleman !  Yery 
much  like  that  is  the  spell  of  retiring  dignity  and  elegant  reserve 
which  fascinates  in  Mr.  Irving's  writings.  And  when  this  sort 
of  manner  is  found  in  conjunction  with  essential  genius  and 
genuine  finished  art,  as  in  his  case  it  undoubtedly  is,  the  delight 
becomes  as  irresistible  as  it  is  undefinable. 

Mr.  Irving  possesses  but  little  invention.  The  attractiveness  of 
his  tales  does  not  depend  upon  their  material,  upon  their  construc 
tion,  upon  the  novelty,  variety,  or  impressiveness  of  their  incidents, 
upon  an  anxious  crisis  or  a  brilliant  denouement,  but  upon  the 
illustrative  talent  of  the  narrator,  upon  the  innumerable  occasional 
decorations  that  delight  us  into  a  forgetfulness  of  the  purpose 
or  want  of  purpose  of  the  whole,  and  the  pleasant  sketches  of 
costume,  scenery,  and  manners  which  are  hung  along  the  con 
duct  of  the  piece  in  such  profusion,  that  it  resembles  at  length 
a  brilliant  gallery  of  pictures,  built  for  the  display  of  its  own 
treasures,  and  not  to  lead  to  some  definite  end.  His  concep 
tion  of  beauty  is  not  rich  or  exquisite.  In  sentiment  he  is  com 
monplace,  dilute,  and  superficial.  Of  earnest,  deep  feeling,  he 
can  scarcely  be  said  to  have  anything  at  all.  Intellectual  force 
or  moral  sensibility  contribute  little  to  his  works.  But  let  us 
not,  therefore,  suppose  that  those  works  are  commonplace  pro 
ductions,  or  the  author  of  them  an  ordinary  person.  Let  us  not 
imagine  that  because  we  cannot  detect  the  seat  of  a  power,  or 
define  its  nature,  components,  or  origin, — nay,  because  we  can 
touch  this  point,  and  say  it  is  not  here,  or  knock  upon  that  sur 
face,  and  find  for  a  response,  that  it  issues  not  thence, — that  any 
doubt  is  thrown  upon  the  greatness,  genuineness,  or  elevation  of 


.ETAT.  33.]  WASHINGTON  IRVING.  71 

that  power.  In  literature,  and  especially  in  that  fine  region  in 
which  the  genius  of  Mr.  Irving  moves,  the  more  subtle  and 
elusive  the  interest  is,  the  more  exalted  and  consummate  is  the 
art ;  the  more  evanescent  the  charm,  the  more  potent  is  it,  the 
more  certain,  and  the  more  enduring.  In  such  a  department 
of  pure  art,  to  accomplish  the  greatest  result  with  the  least 
visible  display  of  exertion,  is  the  highest  triumph.  To  impress, 
and  conceal  the  source  of  the  impression,  is  mastery  in  its  ut 
most.  When  once  we  are  assured  that  a  work  is  certainly  im 
pressive,  the  difficulty  of  detecting  the  reason  of  that  impressive- 
ness  enhances  the  glory  of  the  production.  We  may  talk  of 
the  slightness  of  Mr.  Irving's  composition ;  it  is  easy  to  make 
compositions  as  slight,  but  not  easy  to  make  slightness  so 
effective. 

Beauty  is  a  thing  of  form  and  place ;  it  may  be  detected,  and 
analyzed,  and  reproduced.  But  infinitely  higher  and  grander 
in  its  range,  degree,  and  order,  than  beauty,  is  grace ;  and  that 
is  an  unsubstantial  and  unlocal  essence.  Beauty  resides, 
definitely,  in  the  work  in  which  it  is  recognized;  grace  is  an 
electric  light  evolved  by  the  action  of  successive  parts  of  the 
subject  upon  the  mind.  It  is  experimental,  and  not  demonstra 
tive.  Certain  and  absolute  in  its  action  upon  refined  sensibili 
ties,  when  searched  out  by  the  critical  eye  it  is  a  nervous,  flitting, 
evasive  thing.  It  is  the  true  Galatea  of  taste,  which  strikes  us 
in  spite  of  our  will,  and  when  we  turn  to  seize  it,  has  fled  from 
our  sight,  and  becomes  visible  only  as  it  vanishes.  It  is  on  this 
account  that  ordinary  critics,  whose  minds  are  always  more 
active  than  their  sentiments  are  delicate,  generally  fail  to  appre 
hend  and  appreciate  this  exalted  quality.  It  is  the  source  of 
that  fresh,  delightful  fragrance  which  always  exhales  from  Irving's 
writings. 

In  noting,  therefore,  the  absence  of  great  and  commanding 
intellectual  force,  it  will  not  be  thought  that  we  esteem  Mr. 
Irving  lightly ;  on  the  contrary,  we  regard  him  as  an  extra 
ordinary  and  admirable  artist,  standing  quite  alone  among  his 
countrymen ;  not  likely  ever  to  be  neglected,  or  ever  to  be  rivalled. 
Of  the  genius  of  his  pencil  we  shall  speak  hereafter,  lut  looking 


T2  LITERARY    CRITICISMS.  [^ETAT.  33. 

at  present  only  at  the  style  and  manner  of  his  works,  we  find  a 
grace  as  inherent  as  that  of  childhood ;  a  gentle  gayety  as  vari 
able  yet  as  unfailing  and  as  unfatiguing  as  the  breezes  of  June ; 
an  indestructible  presence  of  good  taste,  simplicity,  and  ease ; 
qualities  which,  in  their  separate  conception,  seem  to  be  slight, 
yet,  in  their  conjoint  effect,  are  the  splendor  of  fame  and  the 
power  of  immortality.  What  renders  the  merit  more  singular 
in  Irving  is,  that  successful  and  inimitable  as  the  charm  is,  it  is 
obviously  not  spontaneous  or  unconscious.  In  strenuous  sim 
plicity  he  almost  equals  the  poet  whose  stream  of  verse  reflects 
forever  the  dewy  lustre  of  the  morning  of  English  civility ;  but 
what  in  the  Pilgrim  of  Canterbury's  scenes  is  the  natural  daz 
zle  of  the  hour,  is,  in  Irving,  clearly  the  noonday  elaboration 
of  profound  and  much-taught  science.  Such  composition  is,  in 
a  great  degree,  a  process  of  rejection ;  a  labor  of  excision  and 
exclusion,  in  which,  however,  excess  is  fatal ;  and  the  full  genius 
and  true  art  of  Irving  can  never  be  popularly  understood,  until 
we  can  see  the  weedings  of  the  exquisite  violet  banks  on  which 
he  gives  us  to  repose  and  be  intoxicated  with  purity  of  sensual 
bliss,  or  can  analyze  the  lees  of  his  cup  of  enchantment,  which 
alone  would  disclose  how  composite  is  the  formation  of  that 
liquor  which,  in  its  final  distillation,  is  as  clear  and  natural  as 
the  crystal  gushings  of  the  rock.  The  "mille  decenter,"  which 
can  be  seen  only  in  the  general  effect,  are  of  infinitely  greater 
value  than  the  "mille  ornatus,"  which  the  eye  recognizes  and 
registers. 

The  prominent  faculties  in  Mr.  Irving's  genius  are  OBSERVA 
TION  and  FANCY.  When  they  act  in  conjunction, — when  quick 
and  lambent  Fancy  touches  with  its  quaint,  kindling  ray  the 
fine  particular  truths  which  Observation  has  noted, — we  have 
the  brightest  and  most  characteristic  exhibitions  of  his  powers. 

The  minute  delicacy  of  his  observation  of  outward  life  is 
remarkable.  The  eye  has  been  to  him  a  potent  instrument  of 
literary  fame ;  it  has  played  the  part  of  a  tireless  gleaner  in  the 
fields  of  life,  bringing  in  snatches  of  beauty  and  grace,  trivial 
in  themselves,  but  invaluable  in  their  disposed  and  aggregated 
effect.  Mr.  Irving  has  obviously  been  through  life  a  quiet  yet 


.  33.]  WASHINGTON  IRVING.  73 

busy  watcher  of  the  shapes,  the  colors,  the  changes  of  the  laud- 
scape,  the  figures  of  trees,  the  forms,  motions,  and  habits  of  birds, 
the  looks  and  ways  of  animals,  the  appearances  and  physical 
peculiarities  of  men.  So  exact  and  special,  in  many  instances, 
are  the  lines  of  description,  that  we  cannot  but  suppose  that  it 
has  been  his  custom,  in  viewing  objects,  to  make  notes  upon  the 
spot,  or  immediately  after,  so  as  to  preserve  the  precise  pecu 
liarities  of  things  which  were  afterwards  to  be  worked  up  in 
sketches.  As  the  subjects  of  the  exercise  of  this  faculty  in  him, 
however,  are  usually  familiar  or  domestic,  and  therefore  not 
especially  dignified,  the  traits  of  observation  are  mostly  hued  by 
humor,  or  heightened  by  sentiment,  or  grouped  in  some  inventive 
combination ;  and  we  meet  few  examples  of  incidents  or  scenes 
in  nature,  rendered  with  simple  accuracy,  as  by  historical  por 
traiture  of  a  real  occurrence.  Yet  some  such .  may  be  found, 
which  challenge  comparison  with  anything  in  literature,  and 
which  place  the  author  in  the  highest  class  of  faithful  copyists 
of  nature  in  her  noblest  simplicities,  and  of  art  in  its  most  gor 
geous  complexity.  The  picture,  in  "Bracebridge  Hall,"  of  the 
eagle  expelled  from  his  resting-place,  in  the  early  morning,  by 
the  pinnace  of  Heer  Antony  Yander  Heyden,  among  the  High 
lands  of  the  Hudson,  is  unrivalled  in  correct  ness  and  power. 

"As  they  coasted  along  the  basis  of  the  mountains,  the  Heer  Antony 
pointed  out  to  Dolph  a  bald  eagle,  the  sovereign  of  these  regions,  who  sat 
perched  on  a  dry  tree  that  projected  over  the  river,  and,  with  eye  turned  up 
wards,  seemed  to  be  drinking  in  the  splendor  of  the  morning  sun.  Their 
approach  disturbed  the  monarch's  meditations.  He  first  spread  one  wing,  and 
then  the  other;  balanced  himself  for  a  moment,  and  then,  quitting  his  perch 
with  dignified  composure,  wheeled  slowly  over  their  heads.  Dolph  snatched 
up  a  gun,  and  sent  a  whistling  ball  after  him,  that  cut  some  of  the  feathers 
from  his  wing.  The  report  of  the  gun  leaped  sharply  from  rock  to  rock,  and 
awakened  a  thousand  echoes;  but  the  monarch  of  the  air  sailed  calmly  on, 
ascending  higher  and  higher,  and  wheeling  widely  as  he  ascended,  soaring 
up  the  green  bosom  of  the  woody  mountain,  until  he  disappeared  over  the 
brow  of  a  beetling  precipice." 

We  have  beheld  that  striking  and  impressive  sight  amidst 
the  mountains  of  the  West,  and  this  account  of  it  is  as  accurate 
as  it  is  effective.  The  description  of  Henry  the  Seventh's  chapel, 
in  "The  Sketch  Book,"  is  equally  remarkable  in  a  very  different 

7 


74  LITERARY   CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  33 

style.  It  is  a  true  Dusseldorff  picture,  minute  in  detail,  daz 
zling  in  coloring,  with  a  delightful  bewilderment  thrown  over 
its  actuality  by  cross-lights  managed  with  consummate  skill. 

Fancy,  as  we  have  said,  is  the  principal  and  most  active  of 
the  creative  powers  of  Mr.  Irving,  and  to  its  predominance  are 
due  alike  his  most  surpassing  excellences  and  his  only  defects. 
To  that  it  is  owing  that  as  a  picturesque  painter  of  material 
life  in  all  its  familiar  phases,  he  shines  without  an  equal.  To 
that  is  owing  the  perpetual  charm  of  unwearying  liveliness, 
which  commends  him  to  us  as  a  companion  in  the  longest  soli 
tudes,  and  the  best  entertainer  of  brief  moments  of  vacuity  or 
gloom.  But  to  this,  also,  in  the  exclusive  way  in  which  it  ex 
ists  in  him,  is  owing  that  his  works  do  little  else  than  amuse ; 
and  that,  too,  only  the  lower  and  less  intellectual  portions  of 
our  nature.  We  wish  not  to  diminish  the  regard  that  is  due 
to  a  writer  who  has  delighted  us  too  often  to  dispose  us  to  criti 
cism  ;  but  in  pleasing  always  he  has  foregone  the  possibility  of 
pleasing  ever  in  the  highest  degree;  and  in  making  himself  per 
petually  liked,  he  has  consented  never  to  be  enthusiastically 
admired,  nor  perhaps  deeply  respected.  For  the  excess  and 
over-cultivation  of  fancy  has  been  fatal  to  the  exercise  of  the 
far  greater  faculty  of  imagination.  Without  staying  to  unfold 
the  distinction  between  these  two  qualities  in  their  entire  nature, 
as  seen  in  fiction,  thought,  feeling,  and  the  whole  action  of 
intelligent  man,  we  may  note  their  difference,  as  far  as  the  pre 
sent  purpose  requires,  in  reference  to  the  field  where,  in  this 
instance,  the  diversity  is  chiefly  illustrated,  namely,  in  descrip 
tion.  In  an  imaginative  view  of  a  scene,  the  mental  conscious 
ness  of  the  person,  or  the  moral  character  of  the  occasion, 
reacts  upon  the  outward  scene  with  such  overpowering  and 
transfusing  energy,  that  all  things  around  become  but  types 
and  symbols, — nay,  the  very  complements  and  visible  parts, — 
of  that  which  is  within.  You  behold  the  scene,  not  as  it  is, 
but  as  it  is  felt  or  as  it  appears, — not  in  its  actual  condition, 
but  as  it  is  cast  and  reproduced  in  a  speculum  of  thought  or 
passion  already  warped  or  colored  by  the  master  emotion. 
Everything  is  subordinated  to  one  prevailing  sentiment.  Ob- 


.  33.J  WASHINGTON  IRVING.  75 

jects  are  not  viewed  in  their  details,  but  each  part  is  considered 
in  reference  to  the  whole,  and  colored  by  the  notion  of  the 
whole.  The  spirit  of  totality  and  unity,  derived  from  the 
singleness  and  intensity  of  the  intellectual  medium  of  concep 
tion,  predominates.  The  action  of  fancy,  however,  is  the  op 
posite  of  all  this. 

The  absence  of  imagination  is  obvious  throughout  the  whole 
of  Irving's  writings.  But  to  illustrate,  in  a  single  scene,  how 
entirely  humor  in  him  is  dependent  on  fancy,  and  not  imagi 
nation,  we  may  take  the  account  of  the  Wacht-meester  of  Beam 
Island,  when  the  herald  who  had  been  sent  by  Governor  Kieft 
arrived  at  the  rebellious  fort  of  Yan  Kensellaerstein,  in  the 
Knickerbocker  annals. 

"In  the  fulness  of  time,  the  yacht  arrived  before  Beam  Island,  and  Anthony 
the  Trumpeter,  mounting  the  poop,  sounded  a  parley  to  the  fortress.  In  a 
little  while,  the  steeple-crowned  hat  of  Nicholas  Koorn,  the  wacht-meester, 
rose  above  the  battlements,  followed  by  his  iron  visage,  and  ultimately  his 
whole  person,  armed,  as  before,  to  the  very  teeth;  while  one  by  one  a  whole 
row  of  Helderbergers  reared  their  round  burly  heads  above  the  wall,  and  be 
side  each  pumpkin-head  peered  the  end  of  a  rusty  musket." 

This  separation  of  the  wacht-meester's  person  into  a  three- 
storied  automaton,  and  this  display  of  his  mimic  garrison,  as  in 
a  mirror  which  leaves  their  vital  consciousness  unreflected,  is 
extremely  diverting,  but  it  never  could  be  the  suggestion  of  any 
but  an  unimaginative  mind. 

As  a  double  example  of  the  perfection  of  a  description  of 
natural  scenery  in  itself  and  wholly  apart  from  imagination,  and 
the  failure  of  an  attempt  to  represent  the  same  scene  imagina 
tively,  may  be  cited  the  view  around  Tappan  Zee  as  Ichabod 
Crane  rode  towards  it  in  the  afternoon,  and  from  it  at  midnight. 
The  former  of  the  two  pictures  is  as  follows  : 

"As  he  journeyed  along  the  side  of  a  range  of  hills  which  look  out  upon 
some  of  the  goodliest  scenes  of  the  mighty  Hudson,  the  sun  gradually  wheeled 
his  broad  disk  down  into  the  west.  The  wide  bosom  of  the  Tappan  Zee  lay 
motionless  and  glassy,  excepting  that  here  and  there  a  gentle  undulation 
waved  and  prolonged  the  blue  shadow  of  the  distant  mountain.  A  few  amber 
clouds  floated  in  the  sky,  without  a  breath  of  air  to  move  them.  The  horizon 
was  of  a  fine  golden  tint,  changing  gradually  into  a  pure  apple-green,  and 


76  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^ETAT.  33. 

from  that  into  the  deep  blue  of  the  mid-heaven.  A  slanting  ray  lingered  on 
the  woody  crests  of  the  precipices  that  overhung  some  parts  of  the  river, 
giving  greater  depth  to  the  dark-gray  and  purple  of  their  rocky  sides.  A 
sloop  was  loitering  in  the  distance,  dropping  slowly  down  with  the  tide,  her 
sails  hanging  uselessly  against  the  mast;  and  as  the  reflection  of  the  sky 
gleamed  along  the  still  water,  it  seemed  as  if  the  vessel  was  suspended  in  the 
air." 

An  exquisite,  a  faultless  piece  of  cabinet  painting  1  undoubt 
edly  drawn  and  colored  upon  the  spot.  It  is  a  portraiture  of 
the  scene  as  it  is — abstractly — without  reference  to  any  state  of 
feeling  in  the  observer,  or  any  prevailing  sentiment  in  the  narra 
tive.  In  the  pendant  to  this,  the  endeavor  has  been  to  exhibit 
the  same  locality  in  immediate  relation  with  a  peculiar  condition 
of  mind  in  the  hero  of  the  tale. 

"It  was  the  very  witching  time  of  night  when  Ichabod,  heavy-hearted  and 
crest-fallen,  pursued  his  travel  homewards,  along  the  sides  of  the  lofty  hills 
which  rise  above  Tarry  Town,  and  which  ho  had  traversed  so  cheerily  in 
the  afternoon.  The  hour  was  as  dismal  as  himself.  Far  below  him  the  Tappan 
Zee  spread  its  dusky  and  indistinct  waste  of  waters,  with  here  and  there  the 
tall  mast  of  a  sloop,  riding  quietly  at  anchor  under  the  land.  In  the  dead 
hush  of  midnight  he  could  even  hear  the  barking  of  the  watch-dog  from  the 
opposite  shore  of  the  Hudson ;  but  it  was  so  vague  and  faint  as  only  to  give 
an  idea  of  his  distance  from  this  faithful  companion  of  man.  Now  and  then, 
too,  the  long-drawn  crowing  of  a  cock,  accidentally  awakened,  would  sound  far, 
far  off,  from  some  farm-house  away  among  the  hills — but  it  was  like  a  dream 
ing  sound  in  his  ear.  No  signs  of  life  occurred  near  him,  but  occasionally  the 
melancholy  chirp  of  a  cricket,  or  perhaps  the  guttural  twang  of  a  bull-frog, 
from  a  neighboring  marsh,  as  if  sleeping  uncomfortably,  and  turning  sud 
denly  in  his  bed." 

Not  thus  would  these  objects  have  appeared  to  one  who  was 
in  such  a  sensitive  and  excited  condition  of  mind  as  presently  to 
mistake  an  acquaintance  with  a  cloak  over  his  head  and  a  pump 
kin  on  his  saddle-bow,  for  the  Headless  Horseman  of  the  Hollow 
carrying  his  cranium  before  him.  The  design  of  describing  the 
nocturnal  scene  by  sounds  rather  than  by  sights  is  a  good  one  ; 
but  each  particular  noise,  instead  of  being  represented  in  a 
manner  to  react  with  augmenting  terror  upon  the  fear-stricken 
sense  of  the  traveller,  is  described  in  such  a  way  as  wholly  to 
explain  it  away  as  a  source  of  alarm,  and  to  deprive  it  of  the 


33.]  WASHINGTON   IRVING.  77 

power  of  affrighting.  The  things  are  described  not  according 
to  the  law  of  terror  within  the  mind  of  him  on  whom  they  were  to 
operate,  but  according  to  the  law  of  their  actual  state,  as  coldly 
viewed  by  an  unexcited  observer.  The  mast,  which  should  have 
appeared  as  a  strange,  gleaming  thing,  weird  and  spectral, 
raising  indefinite  apprehensions,  becomes  a  familiar  and  calming 
sight  by  being  referred  to  a  sloop,  "riding  quietly  at  anchor 
under  the  land."  The  distant  bay  of  the  watch-dog  is  well 
managed;  but  the  drowsy  crowing  of  the  cock,  which  might 
with  great  effect  have  been  made  to  have  mysterious  relation  to 
the  return  of  wandering  ghosts  to  their  sepulchral  tenements,  is 
brought  back  to  quotidian  unmeaningness  by  being  made  to 
proceed  from  a  bird  "accidentally  awakened."  The  chirp  which, 
heard  at  midnight,  should  have  been  an  unknown  signal,  is 
elaborately  portrayed  as  the  soothing  voice  of  the  domestic  and 
companionable  cricket ;  and  the  awful  bass  from  the  marshes 
which,  in  lonely  darkness,  would  have  been  an  unlocal,  bodiless 
horror,  thrilling  the  nerves  like  a  galvanic  shock,  is  divested  of 
all  terror  and  of  all  dignity,  by  being  the  snort  of  a  frog 
"sleeping  uncomfortably,  and  turning  suddenly  in  his  bed." 
Compare  all  this  with  one  of  Shakspeare's  nights !  Mr. 
Irving's  failure  in  this  case  is  to  be  ascribed  to  defect  of  imagi 
nation,  and  consequent  excess  of  inappropriate  and  discordant 
detail. 

Moreover,  this  constant  following  of  the  minutiae  of  a  scene 
to  turn  them  into  picturesque  effect — this  constant  subordination] 
of  reflective  action  to  outward  appearance — damps  and  en-| 
feebles  the  intellectual  power.  The  fine,  strong,  manly  thought 
. — the  vigorous  moral  reflection. — the  commanding  tone  of  ra 
tional  sense — which  form  so  potent  and  grand  an  element  in  the 
magic  of  Scott's  creations,  are  not  found  in  Irving.  However, 
it  is  a  false  system  to  criticise  a  literary  work  according  to  what 
it  has  not.  So  viewed,  it  is  seen  erroneously  as  the  complement 
of  some  imagined  whole,  and  has  all  its  signs  reversed.  It  is 
wiser  as  well  as  kindlier  to  consider  a  production  of  art  under 
the  view  of  what  it  is  and  has,  and  not  of  what  it  lacks. 

In  ideal  pictures  of  inanimate  nature,  and  of  animals,  trees, 


78  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  33. 

and  landscapes,  Mr.  Irving's  microscopic  fidelity  in  limning  ac 
complishes  some  remarkable  effects.  He  does  not  bring  a  scene 
before  you  by  giving  the  general  expression  of  it,  or  the  leading 
characteristics,  under  the  form  of  a  mental  conception,  here  and 
there  rendered  definite  and  particular  by  certain  touches  of 
detail.  He  paints  every  object  separately  and  exquisitely,  fixing* 
your  attention  upon  each  in  succession,  and  making  the  whole  aj 
series  of  special  studies.  He  is  in  description  what  Backhuysen 
is  in  painting.  So  prominent  is  the  perspective,  so  absolute 
the  verisimility,  that  you  seem  to  have  the  thing  itself,  rather 
than  a  representation  of  it.  As  a  specimen  of  consummate 
skill  in  this  way,  we  may  take  the  picture  of  the  inn-yard  on  a 
wet  Sunday,  in  the  story  of  "The  Stout  Gentleman." 

"I  know  of  nothing  more  calculated  to  make  a  man  sick  of  this  world,  than 
a  stable-yard  on  a  rainy  day.  The  place  was  littered  with  wet  straw,  that  had 
been  kicked  about  by  travellers  and  stable-boys.  In  one  corner  was  a  stag 
nant  pool  of  water,  surrounding  an  island  of  muck ;  there  were  several  half- 
drowned  fowls  crowded  together  under  a  cart,  among  which  was  a  miserable, 
crest-fallen  cock,  drenched  out  of  all  life  and  spirit;  his  drooping  tail,  matted, 
as  it  were,  into  a  single  feather,  along  which  the  water  trickled  from  his  back  ; 
near  the  cart  was  a  half-dozing  cow,  chewing  the  cud,  and  standing  patiently 
to  be  rained  on,  with  wreaths  of  vapor  rising  from  her  reeking  hide;  a  wall 
eyed  horse,  tired  of  the  loneliness  of  the  stable,  was  poking  his  spectral  head 
out  of  a  window,  with  the  rain  dripping  on  it  from  the  eaves;  an  unhappy 
cur,  chained  to  a  dog-house  hard  by,  uttered  something  every  now  and  then, 
between  a  bark  and  a  yelp ;  a  drab  of  a  kitchen-wench  tramped  backwards 
and  forwards  through  the  yard  in  pattens,  looking  as  sulky  as  the  weather 
itself;  everything,  in  short,  was  comfortless  and  forlorn,  excepting  a  crew  of 
hardened  ducks,  assembled  like  boon  companions  round  a  puddle,  and  making 
a  riotous  noise  over  their  liquor." 

Certainly  this  is  nature  itself, — only  more  so,  as  Hudson 
would  say.  That  "more  so,"  is  just  the  difficulty. 

The  description  in  another  part  of  "Bracebridge  Hall,"  of 
Lady  Lillicraft's  dogs,  is  hardly  inferior. 

"  One  is  a  fat  spaniel,  called  Zephyr — though  Heaven  defend  me  from  such 
a  Zephyr!  He  is  fed  out  of  all  shape  and  comfort;  his  eyes  are  nearly 
strained  out  of  his  head;  he  wheezes  with  corpulency,  and  cannot  walk  with 
out  great  difficulty.  The  other  is  a  little,  old,  gray-muzzled  curmudgeon, 
Vfith  an  unhappy  eye,  that  kindles  like  a  coal  if  you  only  look  at  him ;  his 


.  33.]  WASHINGTON  IRVING.  f9 

nose  turns  up;  his  mouth  is  drawn  into  -wrinkles,  so  as  to  show  hia  teeth ;  in 
short,  he  has  altogether  the  look  of  a  dog  far  gone  in  misanthropy,  and  totally 
tick  of  the  world.  When  he  walks,  he  has  his  tail  curled  up  so  tight,  that  it 
seems  to  lift  his  feet  from  the  ground ;  and  he  seldom  makes  use  of  more  than 
three  legs  at  a  time,  keeping  the  other  drawn  up  in  reserve.  This  last  wretch 
is  called  Beauty." 

In  the  same  line  of  excellence  may  be  placed  the  picture 
of  the  landscape,  in  the  chapter  of  the  Angler  in  The  Sketch 
Book." 

"  I  have  them  at  this  moment  before  my  eyes,  stealing  along  the  border  of 
the  brook,  where  it  lay  open  to  the  day,  or  was  merely  fringed  by  shrubs  and 
bushes.  I  see  the  bittern  rising  with  hollow  scream,  as  they  break  in  upon 
his  rarely  invaded  haunt;  the  kingfisher,  watching  them  suspiciously  from 
his  dry  tree,  that  overhangs  the  deep,  black  mill-pond,  in  the  gorge  of  the 
hills ;  the  tortoise,  letting  himself  slip  sideways  from  off  the  stone  or  log,  on 
which  he  is  sunning  himself;  and  the  panic-struck  frog,  plunging  in  head 
long,  as  they  approach,  and  spreading  an  alarm  throughout  the  watery  world 
around." 

These  are  remarkable  illustrations  of  the  completeness  and 
vividness  with  which  an  object  or  a  scene  can,  by  mere 
tive  description,  be  realized  under  your  eye.  This  faculty 
take  to  be  Mr.  Irving's  forte ;  and  its  successful  exercise  by 
him  has  given  rise  to  a  school  of  writers,  who,  with  less  taste, 
but  in  some  cases  more  power,  have  carried  the  style  to  an  un 
limited  height  of  popularity,  but  quite  beyond  the  domain  of 
genuine  art.  We  regard  Mr.  Irving's  works  as  having  furnished 
the  original  and  model  of  Dickens's  descriptive  manner ;  and, 
if  the  former  has  more  delicacy,  softness,  and  grace,  the  other 
excels  in  force,  range,  and  vividness.  Has  not  the  general  por 
traiture  of  the  species  "  English  Stage-coachman,"  in  "  Tho 
Sketch  Book,"  served  as  a  preliminary  study  for  the  elder  Weller 
in  Pickwick  ? 

"  He  has  commonly,"  says  Irving,  "  a  broad,  full  face,  curiously  mottled 
with  red,  as  if  the  blood  had  been  forced  by  hard  feeding  into  every  vessel 
of  the  skin  ;  he  is  swelled  into  jolly  dimensions  by  frequent  potations  of  malt 
liquors,  and  his  bulk  is  still  further  increased  by  a  multiplicity  of  coats,  in 
which  he  is  buried  like  a  cauliflower,  the  upper  one  reaching  to  his  heels.  He 
wears  8  broad-brimmed,  low-crowned  hat ;  a  huge  roll  of  colored  handkerchief 
about  his  neck,  knowingly  knotted,  and  tucked  in  at  the  bosom ;  and  has,  in 
summer-time,  a  large  bouquet  of  flowers  in  his  button-hole,"  Ac.,  <fec. 


3S  and  i 
imita- 1 " 
Jty  we  | 


80  LITERARY  CRITICISMS. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  of  Mr.  Irving's  supremacy  in  this 
class  or  school.  The  only  question  is  as  to  the  comparative 
dignity  and  elevation  of  the  school  itself.  For  ourselves,  we 
may  as  well  say  at  once  that  we  do  not  regard  it  as  belonging 
to  a  high  order  of  art.  It  implies  an  extremely  nice  observa-- 
tion,  constantly  and  painfully  engaged  upon  its  task ;  but  it 
involves  no  act  of  true,  creation,  no  exercise  of  veritable  poetid 
power.  The  pictures  have  no  atmosphere ;  the  objects  glare 
directly  upon  you  without  passing  through  any  mental  medium \ 
Amused,  astonished,  and  perhaps  delighted  with  the  work,  you, 
feel  little  respect  or  interest  for  the  author.  His  character  is 
not  in  his  production.  This  is  the  style  of  all  recent  art.  It  is 
the  school  of  Backhuysen,  Achenbach,  and  Birkel.  We  make 
our  protest  against  the  whole  cabal.  We  design,  at  a  conve 
nient  opportunity,  to  deliver  a  full  confession  of  our  critical 
faith  upon  these  topics.  We  deem  an  exposure  of  the  pervading 
feebleness  and  falsity  of  the  principle  of  this  style,  indispensable 
to  rescue  the  youthful  genius  of  our  country  from  a  fatal  seduc 
tion.  The  vice  of  the  art  of  this  day,  literary  and  pictorial, 
poetical  and  prose,  and  infecting  authors  and  readers  alike,  con 
sists  in  the  excess  of  fancy,  and  the  deficiency  of  imagination. 

In  respect  to  personal  portraiture,  Mr.  Irving  is  an  exquisite  i 
delineator  of  external  manners,  but  has  no  power  of  representing 
character.  He  paints,  not  to  the  mind,  by  those  intellectual 
touches  which  flash  a  cbmplete  subject  into  existence  ;  nor  to  the 
conceptive  faculty,  by  seizing  those  leading  traits  which  draw  all 
the  accessories  and  dependents  after  them ;  but  to  the  eye,  by 
the  transcription  of  every  individual  peculiarity  in  succession, 
each  of  which  adds  a  modifying  influence  to  those  that  went  be 
fore,  so  that  the  effect  is  not  complete  until  each  stroke  has  been 
noted.  He  never  gives  you  the  interior,  living,  conscious  man. 
You  never  get  hold  of  the  moral  being  of  the  creature.  You 
have  the  mere  larva  of  the  person ;  the  filmy  shell  of  dress, 
carriage,  and  deportment,  according  to  their  pictorial  impres 
sion.  There  is  a  complete  absence  of  materiality  from  his 
people.  They  make  no  noise  in  walking.  When  they  cross 
the  mead,  the  grass  is  not  pressed  down  under  their  feet.  They 


33.]  WASHINGTON  IRVING,  81 

seem,  like  Chinese  figures  in  a  landscape,  to  hang  a  foot  or  two 
up  in  the  air.  They  are  shadows ;  visionary  toys  in  human 
shape ;  moving  their  limbs  according  as  the  author  of  their 
being  draws  the  strings  upon  which  they  are  hung ;  airy  forms, 
flitting  in  an  airy  scene. 

How  different  is  the  nature  of  Scott's  creations !  He  seizes 
the  moral  and  mental  being  of  the  subject  of  his  pencil,  and  sets 
him  before  you  as  a  real,  breathing,  earnest  man.  He  brings 
out  the  exterior  impression  as  strikingly  and  particularly  as 
Irving ;  but  he  approaches  it  from  within,  and  compasses  it  by 
associating  outward  indications  with  inward  and  characteristic 
qualities.  Compare  the  picture  of  Touchwood  with  that  of 
General  Harbottle  1  How  clear  and  marked  are  the  face,  figure, 
and  bodily  peculiarities  of  the  former ;  yet  how  living  he  is ! 
How  you  feel  his  breath  as  he  passes  by ;  how  uncomfortably 
his  eye  lies  upon  you  !  The  elaboration  of  General  Harbottle ?s 
exterior  is  infinitely  greater;  and,  as  a  piece  of  outward  pic 
turing,  nothing  can  be  more  complete  : — "A  soldier  of  the  old 
school,  with  powdered  head,  sidelocks,  and  pig-tail : — his  face 
shaped  like  the' stern  of  a  Dutch  man-of-war,  narrow  at  top,  and 
wide  at  bottom,  with  full  rosy  cheeks,  and  a  double  chin ;" — 
then,  the  meeting  between  himself  and  Lady  Lillicraft :  "  The 
graciousness  of  her  profound  courtesy,  and  the  air  of  the  old 
school  with  which  the  General  took  off  his  hat,  swayed  it  gently 
in  his  hand,  and  bowed  his  powdered  head  :" — and  again,  where 
he  and  Master  Simon  were  playing  the  mischief  with  a  buxom 
milk-maid  in  a  meadow,  their  elbowing  each  other  now  and  then, 
and  the  General's  shaking  his  shoulders,  blowing  up  his  cheeks, 
and  breaking  out  into  short  fits  of  irrepressible  laughter, — how 
perfect  the  portraiture !  Yet,  with  all,  the  General  is  not  a 
living  creature ;  he  is  a  mere  airy  puppet,  a  shadowy  coinage 
of  the  vision,  existing  for  the  reader's  mind  only,  in  those  scenes 
and  acts  in  which  he  is  specially  described,  and  nowhere  else. 

Humor,  as  an  adopted  tone  of  style,  or  a  permanent  habit 
of  mind,  is  a  striking  characteristic  of  Mr.  Irving's  writings  :  it 
seems,  however,  to  be  not  an  original,  inherent,  spiritual  capa 
city,  but  an  effect  resulting  from  the  odd,  grotesque  action  of 


82  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [yEiAT.  33. 


the  fancy  and  taste.  It  will  be  found,  almost  invariably,  that 
the  humorous  character  of  his  productions,  is  external  and  visi 
ble,  arising  from  queerness  of  outward  form,  or  combination,  or 
allusion  ;  it  is  humor  to  the  sight,  and  not  to  the  soul.  Quaint, 
droll,  comic,  —  what  you  will,  in  the  line  of  diverting,  laughter- 
moving  conceit,  —  we  can  scarcely  admit  his  possession  of  that 
grand,  deep,  pathetic,  meditative  inspiration,  Humor  ;  —  a  faculty 
which  seems  to  be  the  combination  and  the  key  of  all  our  nature's 
sympathies  ;  which  measures  the  highest  flights  of  thought, 
searches  the  deepest  recesses  of  feeling,  and  sits  upon  the  firmest 
seat  of  sense  :  the  wisest  instinct  of  our  minds,  the  kindliest  im 
pulse  of  our  hearts  ;  a  prompting  always  right,  a  guidance  ever 
graceful  ;  dignifying  and  endearing  what  it  touches,  and  having 
relation  to  love  rather  than  contempt.  It  would  be  neither  fair 
nor  practicable  to  compare  the  mirthfulness  of  Irving,  with  that 
of  the  great  Cervantic  mind,  or  with  that  which  was  the  fullest, 
strongest,  most  complex  action  of  the  mighty  genius  of  Scott  ; 
any  more  than  to  liken  the  simple  carolings  of  a  shepherd's 
reed  to  the  multitudinous,  interlinked,  and  infinitely  complicated 
harmonies  of  one  of  Handel's  oratorios.  But  taking  lower  and 
smaller  parallels,  the  humor  of  Addison  is  intellectual,  that  of 
Goldsmith  moral,  and  that  of  Irving  ^urely_fenci|uL  In  the 
author  of  "  The  Spectator,"  the  humorous  seems  to  be  the  highest 
action  of  the  rational  ;  the  last,  and  finest,  and  surest  test  of 
sense  and  argument  of  right.  In  Goldsmith,  it  grows  out  of  a 
practical  and  feeling  acquaintance  with  life,  and  a  keen  and 
shrewd,  yet  affectionate  insight  into  the  peculiarities  and  weak 
nesses  of  individual  character,  and  the  foibles,  vanities,  and 
innocent  absurdities  of  domestic  and  social  relations.  In  IrvingJ 
it  is  the  humor  of  the  picturesque  and  quaint.  It  is  a  ridiculing! 
humor,  founded  on  distortion  and  misrepresentation;  not  a] 
genial,  enjoying  spirit,  arising  from  seeing  into  the  depths  of 
things.  In  plain  truth,  Irving  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than 
the  most  delicate,  graceful,  and  exquisite  of  caricaturists. 

As  an  illustration,  that  humor  with  Mr.  Irving  lies  in  the 
exercise  of  fancy,  that  it  exists  in  the  outward  and  pictorial,  and 
not  mentally,  and  in  ideas,  we  may  refer  to  the  opening  chapters 


.  33.]  WASHINGTON  IRVING.  83 

of  Knickerbocker's  History.  We  are  told,  in  a  late  prologue, 
that  they  were  intended  to  burlesque  the  pedantic  lore  displayed  * 
in  certain  American  works  ;  and  the  task  is  long  and  laboriously 
followed  out.  Yet  how  dull,  vapid,  and  ineffective  is  the  toil  ! 
The  whole  thing  is  a  failure.  It  is  not  until  we  come  to  the 
second  book,  and  the  portraits  of  Hendrick  Hudson  and  his 
mate  Jewit,  and  the  G-oede  Yrouw,  that  we  feel  one  genuine 
emotion  of  merriment,  and  recognize  the  cunning  of  a  master. 

A  sense  of  the  humorous,  morally  or  intellectually,  is  a  sure 
preservative  against  extravagance  or  bad  taste ;  and  the  extent 
to  which  Mr.  Irving's  drollery  is  merely  a  work  of  the  fancy, 
and  of  kin  to  caricature,  may  be  seen  in  the  numerous  instances, 
especially  in  his  earlier  writings,  in  which  bizarre  conceptions 
degenerate  into  mere  witless  farce,  exciting  no  amusement  what 
ever.  Such,  we  suppose,  to  be  the  account  of  the  escape  of 
Communipaw  from  the  Virginia  fleet,  by  the  burghers  falling  to 
work  and  smoking  their  pipes  at  such  a  rate,  as  wholly  to  con 
ceal  the  country,  and  the  account  of  the  origin  of  the  name  of 
Anthony's  Nose  in  the  Highlands.  The  latter  story  is,  that  as 
Anthony,  the  Governor's  trumpeter,  whose  nose  was  of  a  very 
burly  size,  was  sailing  up  the  Hudson,  he  leaned  over  the 
quarter-railing  of  the  galley,  early  one  morning,  to  contemplate 
it  in  the  glassy  wave  below. 

"Just  at  this  moment,  the  illustrious  sun,  breaking  in  all  his  splendor  from 
behind  a  high  bluff  of  the  Highlands,  did  dart  one  of  his  most  potent  beams 
full  upon  the  refulgent  nose  of  the  sounder  of  brass,  the  reflection  of  which 
shot  straightway  down,  hissing  hot,  into  the  water,  and  killed  a  mighty 
sturgeon  that  was  sporting  beside  the  vessel,"  <fec.,  <fcc. 

If  this  is  humor,  we  must  confess  our  incapacity  to  perceive 
it.  According  to  our  impression,  the  greater  part  of  Knicker 
bocker's  History  consists  of  the  farcical  rather  than  the  humor 
ous  ;  we  pronounce  it  infinitely  droll,  but  we  do  not  laugh. 

In  dealing  with  the  pathetic,  it  is  equally  obvious,  that  Mr. 
Irving's  power  is  not  that  of  reflection,  but  of  operating  by 
visible  images.  In  "  The  Sketch  Book,"  under  the  title  of  Ru 
ral  Funerals,  there  are  some  meditations  upon  the  influence  of 


84  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  33. 

death  upon  tne  affections,  which  have  become  rather  famous  in 
Elegant  Extracts.  They  are  commonplace,  overstrained,  af 
fected.  But  turn  to  the  story  of  "  The  Widow  and  her  Son,"  and 
you  will  find  that  the  selection  of  incidents,  to  bring  out  all  the 
tender  pathos  of  the  tale,  manifests  a  surpassing  and  resistless 
art.  The  first  view  which  we  have  of  the  mother,  in  church  : 

"A  poor,  decrepit  old  woman,  bending  under  the  weight  of  years  and 
infirmities  :  the  lingerings  of  decent  pride  were  visible  in  her  appearance. 
Her  dress,  though  humble  in  the  extreme,  was  scrupulously  clean.  Some 
trivial  respect,  too,  had  been  awarded  her,  for  she  did  not  take  her  seat  among 
the  village  poor,  but  sat  alone  on  the  steps  of  the  altar." 

Then  the  burial,  when  the  mother  had  been  assisted  to  kneel 
down  at  the  head  of  the  coffin  at  the  grave : 

"  Her  withered  hands  were  clasped,  as  if  in  prayer,  but  I  could  perceive,  by 
a  feeble  rocking  of  the  body,  and  a  convulsive  motion  of  the  lips,  that  she 
was  gazing  on  the  last  relics  of  her  son  with  the  yearnings  of  a  mother's 
heart." 

Then  her  first  appearance  in  the  village  on  the  following 
Sunday  : 

"She  had  made  an  effort  to  put  on  something  like  mourning  for  her  son. 
and  nothing  could  be  more  touching  than  this  struggle  between  pious  affection 
and  utter  poverty;  a  black  ribbon  or  so,  a  faded  black  handkerchief,  and  one 
or  two  more  such  humble  attempts  to  express  by  outward  signs  that  grief 
which  passes  show." 

These  are  the  matchless  strokes  of  genius,  and  show  us  that, 
however  Mr.  Irving  may  disappoint,  when  he  deals  with  abstract 
reflections  and  thoughts,  he  never  wanders  when  he  follows  the 
guidance  of  a  visionary  eye,  inerrant  in  its  truth,  and  unrivalable 
in  its  simple  power. 

The  qualities  which  we  recognize  in  Mr.  Irving,  of  a  mild! 
yet  lively  fancy,  and  a  refined  taste,  render  him  peculiarly  well 
adapted  to  excel  in  narrative ;  and  there  he  certainly  assumes  a] 
position  of  especial  and  distinctive  superiority.     Walpole  has 
remarked  that  simple  narrative,  in  English,  is  one  of  the  rarest 
and  most  difficult  enterprises  of  literary  art ;  and  if  the  reason 
which  he  gives  for  it  be  not  sound,  at  least  the  fact  is  verified 


.  33.]  WASHINGTON  IRVING.  85 

by  all  experience.  Gibbon  was  master  of  every  form  of  style 
except  this;  Robertson,  when  he  shone  the  most  was  farthest 
from  it ;  Hume  alone  approached  tolerably  near  to  the  standard, 
yet  even  in  his  pages  we  find  ourselves  following  the  progress 
of  a  philosopher's  views,  rather  than  a  history  of  national 
events.  Bancroft  cannot  narrate  at  all,  and  Prescott  narrates 
with  labor  and  fatigue.  But  Irving  is  always  simple,  direct, 
onward,  informing,  yet  elegant,  lively,  and  agreeable.  The* 
pleasantness  which  he  diffuses  over  subjects  the  most  barren  or 
the  most  uncomfortable,  arises  chiefly  from  the  instinctive  quiet 
ness  with  which  he  seizes  everything  that  is  capable  of  being 
turned  to  picturesque  effect,  and  employs  it  to  shed  light  and, 
grace  upon  the  scene.  The  art  of  this  system  consists  in  the 
gentleness  and  fineness  of  the  frequent  rays  which  are  thus  shed 
abroad,  and  in  the  absence  of  strong,  startling,  and  extraordi 
nary  lights.  Instead  of  an  occasional  blaze  diffused  froii 
prominent  points,  each  incident,  object,  and  interest  is  mad 
mildly  luminous  by  the  lustre  of  a  fancy  almost  imperceptibl 
in  its  separate  operation.  It  is  by  such  a  process  that  we  are 
made  to  follow  a  troupe  of  adventurers  across  the  disgusting 
sterilities  of  the  north-western  territories  with  the  same  delighted 
spirit  with  which  we  should  tread  the  flowery  vales  of  Cashmere, 
radiant  with  odors  and  ringing  with  the  voices  of  birds.  The 
unexhausted  vigor,  the  delicate  moderation,  the  consummate 
judgment  with  which  in  "Astoria"  the  resources  of  fiction  are 
exerted  to  beautify  the  truth  without  distorting  it,  and  to  im 
prove  its  tone  without  disturbing  its  form,  are  entitled  to  all 
admiration  and  all  imitation.  In  some  instances,  in  which  he 
has-  allowed  his  pencil  to  leave  its  more  brilliant  touches  upon 
the  canvas,  he  has  reached,  in  that  work,  the  finest  pictures  that 
ever  came  from  his  genius.  Such  may  be  considered  the  narra 
tive  of  the  visit  of  Mackenzie  and  his  companions  to  the  village 
of  Wish-ram,  to  demand  the  rifle  of  which  an  earlier  traveller 
had  been  despoiled,  and  which  was  known  to  be  retained  as  a 
trophy.  There  are  no  flourishes  of  fiction  in  the  detail :  the 
truth  of  the  story  is  severely  maintained,  but  the  glow  and 
splendor  of  poetry  are  given  by  merely  supplying  from  general 
8 


86  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [J3TAT.  33. 

conceptions  some  touches  of  pictorial  power  which  undoubtedly 
existed  in  the  original  occurrence. 


"Mackenzie  offered  to  cross  the  river  and  demand  the  rifle,  if  any  one 
would  accompany  him.  It  was  a  hair-brained  project,  for  these  villages  were 
noted  for  the  ruffian  character  of  their  inhabitants;  yet  two  volunteers 
promptly  stepped  forward,  Alfred  Seton,  the  clerk,  and  Joe  de  la  Pierre,  the 
cook.  The  trio  soon  reached  the  opposite  side  of  the  river.  On  landing,  they 
freshly  primed  their  rifles  and  pistols.  A  path  winding  for  about  a  hundred 
yards  among  rocks  and  crags,  led  to  the  village.  No  notice  seemed  to  be 
taken  of  their  approach.  Not  a  solitary  being,  man,  woman,  or  child,  greeted 
them.  The  very  dogs,  those  noisy  pests  of  an  Indian  town,  kept  silence.  On 
entering  the  village  a  boy  made  his  appearance,  and  pointed  to  a  house  of 
larger  dimensions  than  the  rest.  They  had  to  stoop  to  enter  it;  as  soon  as 
they  had  passed  the  threshold,  the  narrow  passage  behind  them  was  filled  by 
a  sudden  rush  of  Indians,  who  had  before  kept  out  of  sight. 

"Mackenzie  and  his  companions  found  themselves  in  a  rude  chamber  of 
about  twenty-five  feet  long,  and  twenty  wide.  A  bright  fire  was  blazing  at 
one  end,  near  which  sat  the  chief,  about  sixty  years  old.  A  large  number  of 
Indians,  wrapped  in  buffalo  robes,  were  squatted  in  rows,  three  deep,  forming 
a  semi-circle  round  three  sides  of  the  room.  A  single  glance  sufficed  to  show 
them  the  grim  and  dangerous  assembly  into  which  they  had  intruded,  and  that 
all  retreat  was  cut  off  by  the  mass  which  blocked  up  the  entrance. 

"The  chief  pointed  to  the  vacant  side  of  the  room  opposite  to  the  door,  and 
motioned  for  them  to  take  their  seats.  They  complied.  A  dead  pause  ensued. 
The  grim  warriors  around  sat  like  statues ;  each  muffled  in  his  robe,  with  his 
fierce  eyes  bent  on  the  intruders.  The  latter  felt  they  were  in  a  perilous  pre 
dicament. 

" '  Keep  your  eyes  on  the  chief  while  I  am  addressing  him/  said  Mackenzie 
to  his  companions.  '  Should  he  give  any  sign  to  his  band,  shoot  him,  and 
make  for  the  door.' 

"Mackenzie  advanced,  and  offered  the  pipe  of  peace  to  the  chief,  but  it  was 
refused.  He  then  made  a  regular  speech,  explaining  the  object  of  their  visit, 
and  proposing  to  give  in  exchange  for  the  rifle  two  blankets,  an  axe,  some 
beads  and  tobacco. 

"  When  he  had  done,  the  chief  rose,  began  to  address  him  in  a  low  voice, 
but  soon  became  loud  and  violent,  and  ended  by  working  himself  up  into  a 
furious  passion.  He  upbraided  the  white  men  for  their  sordid  conduct  in  pass 
ing  and  rcpassing  through  their  neighborhood  without  giving  them  a  blanket 
or  any  other  article  of  goods,  merely  because  they  had  no  furs  to  barter  in 
exchange ;  and  he  alluded,  with  menaces  of  vengeance,  to  the  death  of  the 
Indians  killed  by  the  whites  at  the  skirmish  at  the  Falls. 

"  Matters  were  verging  to  a  crisis.  It  was  evident  the  surrounding  savages 
were  only  waiting  a  signal  from  the  chief  to  spring  upon  their  prey.  Mackenzie 
and  his  companions  had  gradually  risen  on  their  feet  during  the  speech,  an4 


.  33.]  WASHINGTON  IRVING.  87 

had  brought  their  rifles  to  a  horizontal  position,  the  barrels  resting  in  their 
left  hands;  the  muzzle  cf  Mackenzie's  piece  was  within  three  feet  of  the 
speaker's  heart.  They  cocked  their  rifles ;  the  click  of  the  locks  for  a  moment 
suffused  the  dark  cheek  of  the  savage,  and  there  was  a  pause.  They  coolly  but 
promptly  advanced  to  the  door;  the  Indians  fell  back  in  awe,  and  suffered 
them  to  pass.  The  sun  was  just  setting  as  they  emerged  from  this  dangerous 
den.  They  took  the  precaution  to  keep  along  the  tops  of  the  rocks  as  much  as 
possible,  on  their  way  back  to  the  c.moe,  and  reached  their  camp  in  safety, 
congratulating  themselves  on  their  escape,  and  feeling  no  desire  to  make  a 
second  visit  to  the  grim  warriors  of  the  Wish-rani." 

"  The  Life  and  Voyages  of  Columbus"  however,  constitute  the 
most  felicitous  of  the  more  dignified  efforts  of  Mr.  living's  pen. 
It  is  impossible  that  the  story  of  the  sublime  old  tar  can  ever 
be  told  in  a  manner  more  thoroughly  delightful.  It  is  a  "tale 
to  hold  children  from  play,  and  old  men  from  the  chimney 
corner."  You  move  upon  enchanted  ground,  and  every  sight 
and  every  sound  is  framed  for  charming.  But  this  praise  implies 
some  grave  defects.  The  determination  to  make  everything 
picturesque  and  entertaining  is  fatal  to  the  truth  of  the  subject. 
Delays,  disgusts,  hardships,  oppressions,  treacheries,  and  all  the 
harsh,  stern  elements  of  the  reality,  instead  of  being  exhibited 
in  those  rough,  strong  colors  which  would  have  kindled  a  manly 
sympathy  in  the  reader's  heart  to  make  their  rudeness  welcome, 
are  enamelled  in  a  style  of  sketchy  delicacy  of  outline  and  hue, 
that  wholly  betrays  the  genuine  qualities  of  the  subject.  The 
rage  for  catching  the  picturesque  in  external  effect  frequently 
causes  an  utterly  false  notion  of  the  moral  aspect  of  the  occasion 
to  be  rendered  :  the  eye  is  fascinated  and  misled  by  the  visible, 
material  conception  of  what,  intellectually,  may  be  of  a  directly 
opposite  nature.  Thus  the  picture  of  Columbus's  long  and 
weary  suit  at  the  court  of  Spain,  instead  of  being  fully  brought 
out  in  its  uncomfortable  and  degrading  reality,  which  might 
annoy  the  sensibilities  of  the  reader,  is  touched  up  with  images 
of  romantic  scenery  which  convert  the  dulness  of  the  period 
into  brilliant  and  poetic  interest.  These  years  were  passed,  it 
would  sjeem,  amid  scenes  of  peril  and  adventure,  following  up 
the  court  in  striking  situations  of  wild,  rugged,  and  mountainous 
war  j  attending  the  sovereigns  at  sieges  of  Moorish  cities,  and 


88  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [JErAT.  33. 

fighting  himself  in  the  dashing  forays  that  gave  a  zest  to  the 
war;  until  at  length  "Columbus  beheld  Muley  Boabdil,  the 
elder  of  the  two  rival  kings  of  Granada,  surrender  in  person  all 
his  remaining  possessions  and  his  right  to  the  crown  to  the 
Spanish  sovereigns."  It  is  indeed  a  very  curious  study  to  a 
literary  artist,  to  observe  with  what  diligent  dexterity  the 
historian  has  mixed  up  the  figure  of  Columbus  with  the  persons, 
scenes,  occurrences  of  the  day,  with  whom  we  associate  senti 
ments  of  romantic  interest;  how  the  gloom  of  unsuccessful  con 
ferences  is  relieved  by  the  gorgeous  costumes  of  cardinals,  and 
bishops,  and  noble  dames ;  how  the  splendid  trappings  of  royalty 
flit  before  the  dazzled  sight;  until,  at  last,  the  period  of  this 
long  attendance  fills  our  thoughts  as  the  most  entertaining  por 
tion  of  Columbus's  life.  To  the  imagination  and  feelings  of  the 
reader  the  whole  thing  is  an  enchanting  falsehood.  It  is  really 
the  feebleness  and  not  the  force  of  art  which,  unable  to  manage 
the  strong  contrasts  that  should  have  brought  out  the  noble 
harmony  of  the  sublime  story,  levels  all  in  one  insipid  melody. 
Moreover,  the  dreamy,  Arcadian  style  of  the  narrative  causes  a 
complete  want  of  those  definite,  sharp  particularities  which, 
in  a  history,  are  indispensable ;  and  which,  after  all,  give  an 
interest  and  an  effect  which  all  the  flakes  of  sentiment  and  fancy, 
however  accumulated,  cannot  supply.  For  example,  in  attempt 
ing  to  impress  us  with  a  notion  of  the  frailty  and  slightncss  of 
the  vessels  in  which  Columbus  embarked  upon  his  awful  mission 
of  exploration,  he  describes  two  of  them  as  ''light  barks  not 
superior  to  river  and  coasting  craft  of  more  modern  days;"  open 
and  without  decks,  &c. ;  but  he  nowhere  mentions  their  tonnage. 
If  he  had  told  us  that  one  of  the  vessels  was  of  only  fifteen  tons, 
which  is  the  fact,  we  should  have  had  a  far  more  vivid  concep 
tion  of  the  daring  of  this  enterprise.  But  Mr.  Irving  is  too 
nice  a  gentleman  to  deal  in  vulgar  statistics.  The  consequence 
of  this  style  of  dainty  selection  and  exquisite  indistinctness  is 
that  we  cannot  determine  whether  we  are  reading  a  professed 
fiction  or  an  intended  history.  The  pictures  lack  that  indi 
viduality  and  force  which  tell  us  that  we  are  looking  at  a 
portrait  and  not  at  a  fancy-piece.  While  we  read  we  are  held 


.  33.]  WASH  ING  TON  IRVING.  89 

as  by  a  wondering  spell,  but  when  we  close  the  volume,  the 
"incredulus  odi"  succeeds,  and  we  long  for  a  real  history  of 
the  times,  so  that  we  may  know  how  much  of  the  fairy  tale  we 
have  read  is  true.  In  the  history  of  the  siege  of  Granada  this 
puzzle  between  truth  and  fiction  becomes  absolutely  offending. 
We  feel  as  if  the  chronicler  was  trifling  with  us.  The  essence 
of  romance  is  poured  out  in  such  profusion  as  to  become  sicken 
ing.  In  attempting  to  throw  a  perfume  on  the  flowers  of  natu 
ral  truth  he  seems  to  have  spilt  the  bottle  of  attar,  and  the 
nosegay  is  fairly  fetid  with  artificial  and  excessive  odor. 

The  work  upon  which  Mr.  Irving's  fame  as  a  literary  creator 
and  artist  will  rest  in  future  times  is,  no  doubt,  "  The  Sketch 
Book."  The  variety  of  its  materials,  the  refinement  mingled, 
always  with  natural  and  familiar  ease,  the  adaptation  of  its  to 
pics  and  tone  to  the  general  sympathy,  the  union  of  Italian  bril 
liance  with  Flemish  fidelity  in  the  sketches,  render  it  justly  a 
favorite  with  all.  Walpole  used  to  say,  that  an  author's  genius 
usually  comes  into  flower  at  some  period  of  his  life.  And  probably 
there  will  be  little  difference  of  opinion  upon  the  point  that  "The 
Sketch  Book"  is  the  perfect  flower  of  all  of  Irving's  faculties. 
"Bracebridge  Hall"  falls  entirely  below  it  The  design  of  that 
work  cannot  be  regarded  as  a  happy  one  ;  and  objectionable  as 
at  best  it  is,  the  execution  of  the  scheme  is  such  as  to  develop 
new  faults.  In  the  first  place,  the  plan  or  groundwork  of  the 
thing  is  misconceived ;  and  the  misconception  springs  from  that 
want  of  imagination  which  we  have  spoken  of.  The  purpose 
of  the  work  is  to  sketch  the  ancient  poetic  manners  of  the 
English  people,  especially  in  their  country  life ;  and  with  a  view 
to  add  the  interest  of  a  present  scene  to  the  beauty  of  old 
romance,  the  author  supposes  a  character  devotedly  attached  to 
all  bygone  customs,  and  passing  his  life  in  an  endeavor  to  realize 
the  life  of  the  past  in  all  the  usages  upon  his  own  estate.  Now, 
in  order  that  such  moral  anachronism  as  Mr.  Irving  conceives, 
should  be  at  all  probable  or  possible,  the  first  requisite  is  that 
the  person  from  whom  it  originates  should  be  represented  as  a 
man  of  ardent  poetic  genius,  identifying  himself  by  force  of 
creative  energy  with  the  spirit  of  long  departed  institutions, 
8* 


90  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [JErAT.  33. 

and  able,  by  the  enthusiasm  and  force  of  his  character,  to  infect 
all  around  him  with  the  same  illusion.  Such  is  not  Mr.  Irving's 
Squire ;  and  it  is  against  all  consistency,  that  the  commonplace, 
feeble,  vacant  creature  whom  he  introduces  to  us  as  the  pro 
prietor  of  -the  Hall,  should  develop  from  his  own  temper, 
against  all  surrounding  influences,  the  beautiful  elaboration  of 
ideal  existence  which  is  exhibited  to  our  view,  and  that  his  de 
pendents,  stewards,  woodmen,  and  farmers,  should  breathe  the 
atmosphere  of  his  mind  instead  of  their  own  actual  and  real 
consciousness.  The  primary  and  indispensable  conditions  of 
the  scene  are  violated.  We  feel,  therefore,  in  reading  this  work, 
a  sense  of  falsity  and  difficulty.  A  vigorous  imagination  would 
have  kept  the  author  from  this  failure.  But  the  literary  defects 
of  Bracebridge  Hall  are  also  striking.  To  refine  the  critical 
perceptions  and  sentiments  by  diligent  familiarity  with  older 
models,  and  to  reproduce  the  spirit  of  Addisonian  grace,  might 
be  a  worthy  ambition ;  but  to  subordinate  the  mind  and  charac 
ter  to  the  local  and  temporary  form  of  a  particular  passage, — 
to  labor  to  observe,  think,  and  speak  precisely  upon  the 
example  of  the  Spectators — to  make  not  a  rational  imitation, 
but  a  mechanical  mimicry — is  not  a  very  lofty  or  a  very  wise 
employment  of  genius.  As  far  even  as  this  design  is  inten 
tionally  carried  out,  it  is  not  successfully  done.  While  the 
endeavor  to  imitate  Addison  is  palpable  and  displeasing,  the 
constant  intervention  of  phrases  and  even  particular  words, 
which  are  wholly  modern  and  American,  exposes  the  falsity  of 
the  counterfeit,  and  even  gives  an  air  of  vulgarity  to  that  which, 
properly  used,  might  have  had  the  dignity  of  genuineness.  It 
will  be  observed  that  the  attempt  to  impart  an  Addisonian  air 
to  the  style,  consists  chiefly  in  the  frequent  use  of  certain  ex 
pressions  which  are  the  accidental  peculiarities  of  the  model : 
- — "I  could  not  help  observing" — "I  am  apt  to  find  or  to  think" 
— "  A  very  tolerable  scholar,"  &c.  But  in  the  midst  of  these 
the  constant  recurrence  of  such  words  as  "I  noticed,"  and  half 
a  dozen  others,  which  are  neither  Addisonian  nor  English,  not 
only  breaks  the  illusion,  but  converts  it  into  an  imposture.  A 
greater  difficulty,  however,  is  that  the  imitation  is  not  kept  up, 


J3TAT.  31.]  THE  FEMALE  POETS  OF  AMERICA.  91 

and  in  the  nature  of  the  case,  could  not  be  kept  up.  For,  the 
moment  that  the  author  becomes  warmed,  and  his  mind  gets 
into  vigorous  play,  such  is  the  sympathy  between  thought  and 
style,  that  as  the  former  grows  earnest  the  latter  becomes  charac 
teristic  and  genuine.  This  transition  from  the  falsetto  of  an 
affected  Addisonianism  to  the  natural  tones  of  individual  truth 
causes  the  tales, (?)  fine  and  musical  as  they  are,  to  displease  by 
inappropriateness.  Take,  for  instance,  in  the  early  chapters  of 
"  Bracebridge  Hall,"  the  paragraphs  about  family  servants,  and 
about  the  duties  of  women  after  they  are  married,  where  the 
author  gives  vent  to  his  own  serious  and  sober  feelings  and 
opinions  upon  interesting  subjects.  They  are  beautifully  written, 
but  have  not  a  touch  of  the  false  antiquity  of  the  rest ;  and  this 
partial  change  of  the  key  throws  everything  into  discord.  It 
is  like  a  man  who,  acting  a  part  under  a  false-face,  thrusts  out 
his  own  features  from  the  mask  whenever  he  has  anything  par 
ticularly  clever  to  say. 

Of  Mr.  Irving's  works,  generally,  it  may  be  observed,  that  in 
a  grammatical  point  of  view,  the  style  is  delicate  rather  than 
pure,  and  more  exquisite  than  correct.  His  use  of  words  is  nop 
exact ;  indeed,  we  constantly  meet  with  expressions  which  it 
surprises  us  that  a  man  of  good  education  should,  even  in  the 
greatest  carelessness,  let  fall.  Such  phrases  as  the  following  i 
"the  creaking  of  the  cords  seemed  to  agonize  her,"  in  "The 
Widow  and  her  Son  ;"  "he  emerged  Ms  head  out  of  his  shell," 
in  "Bracebridge  Hall;"  "whom  he  thought  fully  entitled  of 
being  classed,"  &c.,  in  the  same  place  ;  are  among  several  that 
struck  us  upon  our  recent  perusal  of  one  or  two  volumes. 


THE  FEMALE  POETS  OP  AMERICA.     By  RUFUS  WILMOT  GRISWOLD. 

THE  elevation  and  purity  of  the  moral  tone  of  a  nation  may 
be  pretty  exactly  estimated  from  the  social  position  and  influ 
ence  enjoyed  by  women.  The  female  character,  in  truth, 
embodies  aud  represents  a  special  portion  of  the  qualities  of 


92  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [JETAT.  31. 

humanity;  and  that  portion  the  most  exalted  and  the  least 
earthly.  The  deference  paid  to  the  sex  and  the  control  exer 
cised  by  them,  depend  upon  the  extent  to  which  those  qualities 
have  sway  in  the  breasts  of  men.  As  natural  energy  and  intel 
lectual  discernment  are  the  masculine  elements  of  the  race,  so 
those  self-annihilating  emotions  and  affections — that  exquisite- 
ness  of  virtuous  sensibility — that  secondary  and  transcendental 
consciousness — which  form  the  spiritual  in  our  constitution — 
are  the  dowry  which  Providence  gave  with  woman,  when  her 
loftier  destiny  was  blended  into  eternal  unity  with  our  kind.  In 
the  civilization  of  modern  Europe,  it  would  be  difficult  to  de 
termine  whether  an  increased  reverence  for  woman  was  a  result 
of  the  new  religion,  or  a  means  providentially  appointed  for 
securing  its  reception  •  so  identified  in  their  progress  have  been 
these  two  sentiments.  From  the  early  days  of  Christianity,  the 
mother  and  her  child  became  the  symbol  of  that  faith  and  feel 
ing  which  were  to  humanize  the  world ;  and  from  that  central 
idea,  as  from  a  germ  of  diviner  life,  the  whole  system  of  catholic 
virtues  flowered.  When,  at  a  later  period,  the  forces  of  intel 
lectual  vigor,  eager  to  expand  into  a  brighter  existence,  gushed 
forth  into  imaginative  art,  the  maternal  relation  and  the  domestic 
circle  became  the  type  of  that  mystic  power  which,  rising  from 
the  ruins  of  Judea,  had  pervaded  the  earth  with  its  transforming 
energy.  The  Madonna — that  natural  apotheosis  of  woman — is 
the  permanent  emblem  of  Christianity. 

The  American  system,  as  it  whirls  onward  in  its  mighty  and 
amazing  progress,  is  manifesting  several  new  qualities  of  life 
and  power,  which  give  promise  that  the  social  condition  ulti 
mately  to  be  realized  in  this  country,  will  differ  strikingly  from 
any  that  has  been  exhibited  in  former  times.  Not  the  least 
observable  of  these  are  the  change  and  advancement  which  have 
been  worked  out  in  the  position  of  that  sex  which,  whether  for 
good  or  for  evil,  has  always  wrought  such  memorable  effects 
upon  the  world.  The  prominence  and  influence  of  women  in 
their  relation  to  society  have  passed  into  a  more  expanded 
phase  of  dignity,  and  operate  in  original  methods  and  through 
novel  channels.  "  Les  Races  se  feminisent,"  says  Buffon. 


.  31.]  THE  FEMALE  POETS  OF  AMERICA.  93 

This  peculiarity  of  our  age,  indeed,  to  which  we  have  alluded, 
is  by  no  means  confined  to  our  own  country.  The  circumstance 
of  literary  development  most  characteristic  of  the  present  time 
everywhere,  is  the  superior  distinction,  relatively,  which  women 
have  acquired  in  some  of  the  most  brilliant  departments  of 
authorship.  In  fiction,  they  seem,  in  every  country  in  Europe, 
as  well  as  on  this  side  of  the  water,  to  have  vindicated  their 
claims  to  an  equality  with  the  other  sex,  and  perhaps,  indeed, 
to  have  supplanted  them  in  popular  favor.  No  northern  writer 
has  ever  acquired  a  reputation  so  pervading  and  universal  as 
Miss  Bremer.  In  France,  Madame  Dudevant,  better  known  as 
George  Sand,  has  obtained,  by  her  analysis  of  character,  her 
mastery  of  the  passions,  and  the  splendid  vigor  of  her  imagina 
tion,  a  position  of  commanding  superiority.  In  England,  we 
have  the  names  of  Miss  Ellen  Pickering,  Miss  Ho  wit  t,  Mrs. 
Gore,  and  many  others :  and  the  English  muse  finds  among  her 
male  votaries,  no  utterance  in  tones  so  rich,  and  bold,  and 
genuine,  as  those  which  answer  to  the  touches  of  Mrs.  Norton, 
and  Miss  Barrett.  So  in  the  generation  just  closed,  Mrs. 
Hemans,  and  Mrs.  Baillie,  and  Miss  Landon,  held  a  place 
scarcely  subordinate  to  that  of  the  great  masters  who  then 
swept  the  lyre  with  a  power  and  freedom  which  had  not  been 
known  for  two  centuries.  The  causes  of  this  honorable  pecu 
liarity  of  our  own  days,  like  most  other  changes  in  society, 
would  probably  be  found  to  lie  among  influences  which  are  so 
subtle  as  to  elude  inquiry.  It  is  obvious,  however,  that  there 
has  been,  through  two  centuries,  a  progressive  advance  in  the 
relation  which  the  female  sex  has  held  to  the  intellectual  con- 
dicton  of  the  race,  and  in  their  influence  upon  the  public  mind. 
Along  with  this,  we  think  it  equally  clear,  that  there  has  been 
a  gradual  expansion  in  the  literary  character  and  calling,  favor 
able  to  the  display  of  natural  and  unschooled  talent.  Formerly, 
authorship  was  looked  upon  as  a  distinct  profession,  as  much 
so,  almost,  as  the  law ;  it  was  regarded  as  eminently  a  learned 
profession,  and  as  specially  demanding  a  thorough  familiarity 
with  a  certain  course  of  classical  discipline.  Hence  the  great 
traditionary  wonder  of  Shakspeare's  want  of  education.  If  a 


94  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [J£TAT.   31. 

Shakspeare  were  to  appear  now,  whatever  wonder  his  genius 
might  raise,  the  circumstance  that  he  had  "little  Latin  and  less 
Greek"  would  not  generally  be  considered  as  among  the  causes 
of  surprise.  In  the  modern  world,  literature  has  followed  a 
course  of  development  directly  opposite  to  that  which  we  see 
among  the  ancients :  with  them,  it  began  from  spontaneous  in 
spiration,  and,  as  it  went  on,  became  encumbered  with  artifice 
and  technicalities.  In  modern  Europe,  it  started  from  profound 
learning,  and  has  gradually  worked  its  way  to  liberty  and  nature. 
It  is  now  "the  free  thought  of  the  free  soul."  No  author  is 
now  struck  down  by  the  critics  at  his  entrance  upon  the  field, 
because  he  has  not  a  scholastic  badge  upon  him  ;  on  the  con 
trary,  we  court  and  commend,  as  conducing  to  originality,  a 
complete  ignorance  of  the  classics,  and  of  the  earlier  writers  of 
our  own  tongue.  Now,  as  from  the  nature  of  the  case,  how 
ever  superior  in  other  respects,  women  can  rarely  be  as  pro 
foundly  and  systematically  educated  as  the  other  sex,  we  look 
upon  the  ponderous  and  pedantic  style  of  composition  in 
former  days,  as  one  of  the  causes  of  the  suppression  of  female 
genius,  and  the  change  which  we  have  alluded  to,  as  having 
prominently  led  to  the  noble  sortie,  which  it  has  made  of  late. 
With  all  these  European  illustrations,  however,  the  action 
of  the  gentle  sex  abroad,  has  been,  as  a  usual  thing,  domestic, 
moral,  invisible :  among  us,  it  has  grown  to  be  general,  intel 
lectual  and  obvious  ;  this  contributes  largely  to  the  force  and  di 
rection  of  public  opinion  :  its  weight  is  felt  in  the  action  of  the 
country:  by  a  direct  and  palpable  control,  it  aifects  the  tone 
of  the  national  mind  and  feeling.  Alterations  in  the  laws  of  a 
people  are  a  sure  sign  of  some  antecedent  modification  in  the 
circumstances  of  society,  which  they  accommodate  and  register ; 
and  the  legislation  which,  beginning  at  the  East,  has  extended 
throughout  most  of  the  States  of  this  Union,  recognizing  the 
increased  independence  and  power  of  the  wife,  and  giving  pro 
tection  to  her  interests,  is  one  of  the  evidences  of  the  social 
change  which  we  allude  to.  Common-law  principles  have  been 
broken  up,  because  the  conditions  upon  which  those  principles 
formed  themselves  have  undergone  variation.  The  extent  to 


31.]  THE  FEMALE  POETS  OF  AMERICA.  95 

which  women  share  the  toils  and  the  honors  of  literary  pro 
duction  among  us,  is  altogether  unexampled  in  the  records  of 
any  of  the  European  states  to  which,  with  a  fall  exhibition 
of  them,  we  have  alluded.  Look  at  any  department  in  America 
that  you  please, — except,  of  course,  such  as  concern  some 
special  profession  or  craft,  with  which  women  necessarily  are 
not  conversant — and  you  will  find  that  the  proportion  of  works 
bearing  feminine  names  upon  their  titles,  is  larger  than  in  any 
other  land,  and  in  many  instances  exceeds  that  of  their  mascu 
line  rivals.  In  fiction — from  its  most  substantial  to  its  slightest 
shapes — in  criticism,  in  politics — in  the  useful  and  in  the  elegant 
alike — those  to  whom  it  was  once  a  rare  and  almost  forbidden 
accomplishment  even  to  read,  now  equal  or  excel  that  sex  which 
formerly  boasted  that  the  pen  was  as  exclusively  its  possession 
as  the  sword.  The  extent  to  which  graceful  forms  mingle  in 
the  masquerade  of  the  daily  press,  and  the  amount  of  power  that 
thus  emanates  upon  society  from  the  purest  sources,  would 
scarcely  be  believed  by  any  who  are  not  initiated  in  the  mysteries 
of  that  secret  fraternity. 

The  workings  of  all  this  upon  the  character  and  condition 
of  our  people,  cannot,  we  must  say  in  passing,  but  be  admirable. 
In  the  present  day,  the  literary  class  forms  the  great  moral  estate 
of  a  nation.  The  press  is  the  grand  medium  through  which  the 
rays  of  mental  and  political  and  spiritual  illumination  and 
guidance  stream  forth  upon  the  world.  That  so  large  a  portion 
of  the  best  and  purest  light  which  our  nature  has  garnered  up 
from  the  primal  beam  which  shone  upon  it  in  the  morning  of 
creation,  mingles  in  that  pillar  of  fire  which  conducts  us  through 
the  night  of  doubt,  and  trial,  and  danger,  is  the  truest  augury 
of  the  grandeur  and  elevation  of  our  destiny.  American  litera 
ture,  at  this  moment,  possesses  more  genuineness,  chasteness, 
simplicity  and  virtue  than  the  literature  of  any  European  country 
which  displays  the  same  vitality  and  force.  The  presence  of 
womanhood,  pervading  its  life  like  a  religion,  has  reproved  and 
cleansed  its  spirit.  The  same  power  has  acted  like  a  solvent 
upon  public  taste ;  precipitating  into  neglect  and  disfavor  all 
coarse  and  gross  productions,  and  leaving  only  the  correct  and 


96  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [JEiAT.  31. 

good  afloat.  No  authors  among  us,  but  such  as  have  pursued 
upright  and  honest  aims,  and  have  promoted  the  interests  of 
morality  and  refinement,  have  acquired  a  permanent  reputation 
and  popularity ;  and  distant  may  the  day  be  in  which  this  shall 
be  otherwise.  The  minds  of  our  countrymen  have  been  swayed 
towards  many  benignant  reformations  in  society. — schemes  pro- 
motive  of  peace,  and  justice,  and  charity,  and  opposed  to  selfish 
ness  and  violence,  have  been  brought  to  bear  upon  the  opinions 
and  action  of  the  people  ;  and  in  all  these  things  we  may  trace 
the  operation  of  female  sympathies,  acting  usually  through  the 
channels  of  the  press.  It  must  be  observed,  also,  that  literary 
habits  on  the  part  of  women  here,  are  not  liable  to  the  evils 
which  sometimes  attend  them  in  Europe.  In  France  and  Eng 
land,  female  authorship,  being  much  rarer  than  with  us,  and 
being  a  good  deal  in  opposition  to  the  prejudices  and  tastes  of 
the  community,  must  be  accompanied  by  a  boldness  of  temper 
and  a  defiance  of  the  public  opinion,  which  reacts  very  injuri 
ously  upon  the  character  of  those  who  become  subject  to  such 
an  influence.  But  with  us, 'the  pen  is  so  frequent  and  approved 
an  ornament  of  hands  which  wear  it  as  gracefully  as  they  wear 
a  bracelet  or  a  ring,  that  the  practice  of  composition  does  not 
form,  to  our  common  feelings,  the  faintest  departure  from  the 
gentleness  and  delicacy  of  female  reserve.  We  hail,  therefore, 
the  new  work,  "The  Female  Poets  of  America,"  with  admiration, 
and  thanks,  and  pride.  No  idea  is  a  more  favorite  one  with 
this  country  and  with  us,  than  that  it  is  among  the  future 
glories  of  our  destiny  to  give  to  the  admiration  of  men  a  litera 
ture  grander,  richer,  more  magnificent  in  tone  and  spirit,  than 
all  that  have  yet  preceded  it.  An  omen  is  here  before  us ! 
Poetry  is,  in  its  nature,  prophetic.  It  is  the  emanation  and 
witness  of  that  imaginative  sensibility,  that  anticipating  appre 
hension,  of  the  finer  and  subtler  kind  of  souls,  in  whose  reflective 
feeling,  that  which  is  not  yet,  is  mirrored  with  a  brilliancy  and 
distinctness  more  vivid  than  the  present  and  the  real.  It  is  the 
full-flowering,  in  a  more  delicate  and  vital  atmosphere,  of  that 
plant  of  national  genius  which  in  the  actual  scene  around,  as 
yet  exists  only  in  the  germ.  It  is  the  forward-thrown  echo — 


31.]  THE  FEMALE  POETS  OF  AMERICA.  97 

airy  and  musical,  yet  truthful  and  definite — of  that  action  which 
is  about  to  be  evolved  by  the  system  of  which  it  is  the  symbol 
and  the  signal.  Kow,  as  the  most  marked  peculiarity  of  our 
new  condition  of  society  has  been  stated  to  be  the  relative 
position  and  eminence  and  influence  of  women  among  us,  it  is 
an  evidence  of  the  genuineness  of  the  creative  talent  which  has 
been  manifested  on  these  shores  that  it  is  so  predominantly 
feminine.  Freshly  and  freely  have  the  sources  of  this  inspira 
tion  been  opened  upon  our  domestic  state ;  and  appropriately 
are  the  fairest  primitice  of  the  poetic  faculty,  on  this  soil,  offered 
from  gentle  hands.  ]S"o  literary  annals  of  Europe  can  show  an 
instance  of  the  powers  of  the  muse,  so  widely  diffused,  so  vari 
ously  toned,  so  highly  cultivated,  in  the  softer  sex,  as  is  here 
displayed. 

Dr.  Griswold  has  performed  the  duties  of  his  undertaking 
with  a  diligence,  a  taste  and  a  discrimination  which  we  doubt 
whether  any  man  in  this  country  could  have  equalled.  The 
selections  are  copious  and  judicious,  and  the  criticisms  upon 
them  are  delicate  and  just.  A  great  deal  of  trouble  has  ob 
viously  been  taken  to  obtain  materials  for  the  work,  and  to 
bring  together  accurate  information  in  regard  to  the  authors. 
A  very  large  portion  of  the  poems — and  those  among  the  best 
in  the  book — have  never  been  printed  before,  having  been  given 
to  the  editor  expressly  for  this  collection.  The  work  has  there 
fore,  to  a  great  extent,  the  value  of  an  original  production  by 
the  combined  efforts  of  our  female  poets.  We  purpose  a  series 
of  papers  on  the  female  poets  of  America,*  and  shall  have  occa 
sion  therein  to  return  and  linger  upon  the  labors  of  this  enthu 
siast  of  the  literary  fame  of  his  country.  He  has  largely  increased 
the  field  of  survey,  and  brought  into  view,  as  entitled  to  perma 
nent  places  in  our  Pantheon,  persons  who  before  were  but  names 
without  embodiment.  His  judgments  are  fearless  and  inde- 

*  These  paper?,  to  which  the  present  criticism  was  meant  as  introductory 
merely,  were  subsequently  written,  and  are  spoken  of  by  a  most  competent 
judge  as  having  been  among  the  few  of  Mr.  Wallace's  perfectly  finished 
papers,  and  such  as  he  was  willing  to  have  printed.  Unfortunately,  however, 
they  are  not  found  among  Lis  MSS. — ED. 

0 


98  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [JEiAT.  31. 

pendent,  and  his  experience  and  good  sense  have  always  saved 
his  freedom  from  being  perverted  into  paradox  or  rashness. 
He  seems  to  look,  as  we  do,  to  the  Occident  for  the  birth-place 
of  those  rays  that  gleam  "unborrowed  from  the  sun."  We  are 
much  struck  with  his  remarks  upon  those  youthful  prodigies, 
Alice  and  Phrebe  Carey  : — 

"In  the  west/'  says  Dr.  Griswold,  "song  gushes  and  flows,  like  the  springs 
and  rivers,  more  imperially  than  elsewhere,  as  they  will  believe  who  study 
her  journals,  or  who  read  these  effusions  or  those  of  Amelia  Wei  by,  the  author 
of  '  The  Wife  of  Leon/  and  other  young  poet?,  whose  minds  seem  to  be  elevated 
by  the  glorious  nature  there,  into  the  atmosphere  where  all  thought  takes  a 
shape  of  beauty  and  harmony.  A  delicious  play  of  fancy  distinguishes  much 
of  the  finest  poetry  of  the  sex;  but  Alice  Carey  evinces  in  many  poems  a 
genuine  imagination  and  a  creative  energy  that  challenge  peculiar  praise.  We 
have  perhaps  no  other  author  so  young,  in  whom  the  poetical  faculty  is  so 
largely  developed.  Her  sister  writes  with  vigor,  and  a  hopeful  and  genial 
spirit,  and  there  are  many  felicities  of  expression,  particularly  in  her  later 
pieces.  She  refers  more  than  Alice  to  the  oornmon  experience,  and  has  per 
haps  a  deeper  sympathy  with  that  philosophy  and  those  movements  of  the 
day,  which  look  for  a  nearer  approach  to  equality  in  culture,  fortune,  and 
social  relations." 

Of  the  delightful  Grace  Greenwood,  another  child  of  the 
forest,  the  editor  writes  thus  pleasantly  and  happily  : — 

"It  was  from  the  beautiful  village  of  New  Brighton,  on  the  Beaver  river, 
thirty  miles  below  Pittsburg,  in  a  quiet  valley,  surrounded  by  the  most  bold  and 
picturesque  scenery,  that  in  1844  she  wrote  the  first  of  those  sprightly  and 
brilliant  letters  under  the  signature  of  '  Grace  Greenwood/  by  which  she  was 
introduced  to  the  literary  world.  They  were  addressed  to  General  Morris  and 
Mr.  Willis,  then  editors  of  The  New  Mirror,  and  being  published  in  that  mis 
cellany,  the  question  of  their  authorship  was  discussed  in  the  journals  and  in 
literary  circles;  they  were  attributed  in  turns  to  the  most  piquant  and  elegant 
of  our  known  writers;  and  curiosity  was  in  no  degree  lessened  by  intimations 
that  they  were  by  some  Diana  of  the  West,  who,  like  the  ancient  goddess,  in 
spired  the  men  who  saw  her,  with  madness,  and  in  her  chosen  groves  and  by 
her  streams  used  her  whip  and  rein  with  the  boldness  and  grace  of  Mercury. 
Such  secrets  are  not  easily  kept,  and  while  the  fair  magazinist  was  visiting 
the  Atlantic  cities,  in  1846,  the  veil  was  thrown  aside,  and  she  became  known 
by  her  proper  name.  She  has  since  been  among  the  most  industrious  and  suc 
cessful  of  our  authors,  and  has  written  with  perhaps  equal  facility  and  felicity 
in  every  style,  'from  grave  to  gny,  from  lively  to  severe.'  Her  apprehensions 
are  sudden  and  powerful.  The  lessons  of  art  and  the  secrets  qf  experience 
have  no  mists  for  her  quick  eyes.  Many-sided  as  Proteus,  she  yet  by  an  in- 


.  19.]  LORD  BOLINGBROKE.  99 

domitable  will  bends  all  her  strong  and  passionate  nature  to  the  subject  that 
is  present,  plucks  from  it  whatever  it  has  of  mystery,  and  weaves  it  into  the 
forms  of  her  imagination,  or  casts  it  aside  as  the  dross  of  a  fruitless  analysis. 
Educated  in  a  simple  condition  of  life,  where  conventionalism  had  no  authority 
against  truth  and  reason,  and  the  healthful  activity  of  her  mind  preserved  by 
an  admirable  physical  training  and  development, — all  her  thought  is  direct 
and  honest,  and  her  sentiment  vigorous  and  cheerful.  But  the  energy  of  her 
character  and  intelligence  is  not  opposed  to  true  delicacy.  A  feeble  under 
standing  and  a  nature  without  the  elements  of  quick  and  permanent  decision, 
on  the  contrary,  cannot  take  in  the  noblest  forms  of  real  or  ideal  beauty.  It 
is  the  sham  delicacy  that  is  shocked  at  things  actual  and  necessary,  that  fills 
the  magazines  with  rhymed  commonplaces,  that  sacrifices  to  a  prudish  nicety, 
all  individualism,  and  is  the  chief  bar  to  aesthetic  cultivation  and  development. 
She  looks  with  a  poet's  eye  upon  nature,  and  with  a  poet's  soul  dares  and 
aspires  for  the  beautiful,  as  it  is  understood  by  all  the  great  intelligences 
whose  wisdom  takes  the  form  of  genius." 


LETTERS  ON  THE  STUDY  AND  USE  OP  HISTORY;    WITH   REFLECTIONS   UPON 
EXILE.       By  the  late  Right  Honorable  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  Lord  Viscount 

BOLINGBROKE.* 

I  AM  amazed  at  the  neglect  into  which  the  writings  of  this  great 
philosopher  have  fallen.  If  there  be  a  life  in  wisdom,  or  a  soul  in 
wit,  or  in  sentences  of  magic  beauty  a  force  that  makes  itself  to 
be  remembered,  his  fame  should  never  have  passed  away  from 
the  earth.  There  was  that  both  in  his  character  and  in  his 
genius  which  addressed  posterity,  rather  than  the  present,  and 
yet  his  distinction  died  before  him.  It  is  indeed  lamentable  to 
see  to  how  mean  an  influence  of  prejudice  his  renown  has  been 
succumbed.  His  reputation,  like  his  person,  has  been  devoured 
by  worms.  I  yield  the  profoundest  homage  to  his  greatness. 
Of  all  the  lords  of  mind,  none  hath  a  larger  state  or  loftier  pace 
than  he.  The  whole  frame  of  his  intellectual  exhibition  is 
marked  by  a  grandness  of  conception,  a  majesty  of  mind,  that  is 
as  rare  as  it  is  delightful ;  the  natural  high  utterances  of  one 
that  breathes  a  superior  atmosphere  of  thought  to  that  of  ordi 
nary  men.  He  is  the  only  infidel  derider  of  man,  from  whose 

*  The  criticism  on  Lord  Bolingbroke,  which  follows,  is  extracted  from  the 
author's  early  diary. — ED. 


100  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [.£TAT.  19. 

writings  you  come  exalted,  ennobled,  and  with  added  vigor  in 
the  cause  of  virtue.  The  most  generous  believer  might  read 
Bolingbroke,  and  in  the  spirit  of  his  sentiments  find  nothing 
alien  to  the  high  hopings  of  the  Christian  heart.  He  looked  on 
man  with  the  scowl  of  a  demon,  and  on  truth  with  the  smile  of 
a  seraph.  His  intellect  was  brilliant,  though  disordered ; 
splendid,  though  erring ;  bright,  but  blasted.  The  gorgeous 
structure  of  his  philosophy  is  riven  to  the  foundation  ;  but  genius 
always  commands  our  sympathy,  for,  "  like  the  temples  of  the 
gods,  she  is  venerable  even  in  ruins."  I  never  read  Bolingbroke 
without  a  feeling  of  deep  melancholy  ;  so  sincere  and  elevated 
are  his  aspirations,  so  vain  and  errabund  his  theories.  He  often 
seems  to  feel  the  hollowness  of  the  portion  which  he  had  chosen, 
but  there  abides  within  him  a  native  nobility  of  soul,  an  inherent 
dignity  of  character,  which  forbids  the  vanity  of  regret  or  the 
weakness  of  a  groan.  We  find  in  him  none  of  those  fretful  and 
deep  repinings,  whereby  Byron  hourly  showed  that  the  load 
which  he  had  assumed  was  too  heavy  for  him,  and  daily  crushed 
him  to  the  earth ;  nor,  on  the  other  hand,  do  we  see  either 
the  wild  revelry  of  the  feebler  children  of  perdition,  or  that  rigid 
calmness  beneath  which  the  arch-apostate  veiled  from  his  peers 
the  burning  anguish  of  his  soul ;  but  rather  the  sad  cheerfulness 
and  vain  hopefulness  of  one  that  did  not  feel  that  all  the  fault 
was  his.  Towards  the  regions  of  moral  truth  he  often  turns  a 
sightless  eye ;  but  the  placid  countenance  tells  that  the  blindness 
was  not  wilful.  He  reminds  me  of  a  benighted  fisherman,  who, 
to  join  his  family  on  shore,  makes  his  way  cheerily  over  the  ice 
with  pole  and  push,  and  dexterous  leap ;  not  seeing  that  the 
field  which  he  is  crossing  is  detached  from  the  land,  and  is  drift 
ing  away  to  the  solitudes  of  the  midnight  sea.  Though  he 
shivers  by  the  flickering  bonfire  of  deism,  he  utters  no  complaint ; 
though  he  wanders  through  the  sands  of  barren  and  irremediable 
error,  he  never  quits  the  philosophic  dignity  of  the  flowing  robe 
and  burnished  ring.  His  step  along  the  paths  of  infidelity  is 
like  the  tread  of  Yathek  down  the  stairs  of  the  hall  of  Eblis ; 
for  though  the  road  is  to  utter  and  eternal  perdition,  the  feet  of 
a  born  king  of  men  are  upon  it.  "We  might  liken  him  to  a  ba- 


2ETAT.  19.]  LORD  BOLINGBROKE.  101 

nished  noble  among  the  frosts  of  Siberia ;  noble,  though  ba 
nished, — though  destitute,  still  dignified :  conscious  that  there 
still  remained  to  him  an  "  order,"  from  which  none  could  degrade 
him,  and  that  a  star  still  shone  upon  his  breast,- -vVhicb  no  mon 
arch  could  strike  off. 

In  pronouncing  sentence  upon  the  moral  c£ur§e  cFa  m«n '-like* 
St.  John,  we  must  take  into  account  those  splendid  infirmities 
of  nature  which  ensure  for  genius  the  fame  of  a  conqueror,  and 
the  fate  of  a  victim ;  that  irrepressible  ardor  of  spirit,  which, 
while  it  kindles  the  intellect  into  a  flashing  fire,  clouds  the  judg 
ment  with  the  fumes  of  excitement,  and  disturbs  the  reason  with 
its  wild  impatience.  His  is  a  breast  which  passion  has  vexed 
with  all  its  storms.  The  chords  of  sensibility  have  been  swept 
from  the  highest  to  the  lowest  note  by  blasts  of  suffering.  Yet, 
throughout  all  his  nature  there  are  traits  of  high  nobility ;  there 
is  visible  in  him  none  of  the  languor  of  a  mind  washed  with  de 
bauchery,  or  drenched  in  the  "  sickly  dews"  of  selfishness  ;  "  le 
vice  Ventrainait  sans  Vasservir."  Much  still  "sounds  man" 
about  him.  For  the  waywardness  of  his  temper  and  the  mad 
ness  of  his  conduct,  some  excuse  may  be  found  in  the  history  of 
his  life.  Soon  after  his  entrance  into  public  scenes,  he  found  a 
rival,  whose  character  he  detested,  and  whose  talents  he  de 
spised,  safely  fixed  in  circumstances  to  laugh  at  him,  and  by 
force  of  dull  and  regular  exertion  pinning  him  to  the  stake  of 
exile  and  contempt.  He  found  factions  using  him  when  they 
needed  his  assistance,  and  turning  from  him  in  the  day  of  his 
calamity.  With  energies  that  demanded  action,  and  a  heart 
which  domestic  interests  could  not  satisfy,  he  was  doomed  to 
feel  in  the  flush  of  early  manhood,  that  his  day  had  gone  by  for 
ever.  When  I  look  upon  him  struggling  under  the  deadly  load 
of  genius,  and  taking  his  steps,  perforce  unsteady,  over  the  burn 
ing  marie  of  statesmanship,  at  a  time  when  politics  swayed  the 
hearts  of  men  with  the  firmness  of  a  principle,  and  the  fervor  of 
a  passion,  I  confess  that  I  cannot  discover  his  failings  ;  and 
before  I  have  finished  his  majestic  apologies  for  his  errors,  I 
have  already  forgotten  what  they  were. 

It  has  been  his  misfortune  that  there  are  few  persons  who 
9* 


102  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [J£TAT.  19. 

have  been  capable  of  representing  him  justly  ;  for  those  who 
admired  his  politics  were  sure  to  abhor  his  philosophy.  The 
eunuch-mind  of  the  younger  Walpole  could  as  little  taste  the 
otKong  and  rasping  sense  of  the  moralist,  as  his  filial  tenderness 
could  tolerate  the  Contemptuous  energy  of  the  politician.  This 
variety  of .  quality  which  made  his  character  inconsistent,  entered 
likewise  into  his  genius,  and  made  it  copious.  He  partook  of 
the  best  essence,  and  was  tinged  with  the  distinct  peculiarities  of 
many  of  those  distinguished  persons  by  whom  he  was  compan 
ioned  and  courted.  He  had  much  of  the  sagacity  of  Swift,  all 
of  the  moral  purpose,  mild  fancy,  and  untrcmbling  judgment  of 
Pope,  the  severe  taste  of  Atterbury,  and  the  rich  scholarship  of 
Arbuthnot.  I  think  that  his  power  of  sarcasm  was  by  nature  both 
stronger  and  more  delicate  than  that  of  his  poetical  friend  ;  but 
the  latter  had  so  educated  his  mind  in  bitterness,  that  he  had 
become,  like  Lot's  wife,  a  pillar  of  salt.  His  sneer  is  often 
savage,  but  it  is  never  the  sneer  of  jealousy  or  hate  ;  it  seems  to 
proceed  from  conscientious  contempt.  He  unites  the  full  com 
pass  of  English  sense  with  the  pointed  vigor  of  the  wits  of 
France.  His  style  has  a  corresponding  breadth  and  liberality, 
and  lies  between  the  high  cathedral  style  of  Milton  and  the 
sauntering  grace  of  Addison.  He  exhibits  a  fresh  and  ever- 
springing  life  of  mind.  Every  sentence  rays  distinct  and  vivid 
thought.  He  tears  down  systems  with  the  naked  hand  of  mas 
culine  sense ;  and  like  a  moral  Milo,  rends  the  aged  trunks  of 
philosophic  theories  with  the  arm  of  unschooled  force.  His 
sentences  are  not  rich  nor  highly  wrought :  it  is  their  tone, 
rather  than  their  structure  which  gives  them  their  weight.  In 
every  member  you  see  the  force  and  shaping  of  a  serious  mind. 
His  stately  tread  is  the  accustomed  princely  step  of  one  who  has 
ever  moved  on  marble,  reposed  on  velvet,  and  breathed  the  air 
of  palaces.  The  grave  procession  which  rests  in  the  spectator's 
mind  as  a  passing  dream  of  splendor,  is  the  daily  condition  of 
his  life.  There  is  nothing  dreamy  or  scholastic  about  Boling- 
broke  :  he  is  always  fresh  with  the  hourly  interests  of  life.  He 
examines  theories  of  metaphysics  with  the  closeness  and  serious 
ness  of  one  discussing  measures  in  council.  He  states  his  system 


.  19.]  AUTHORSHIP   OF   THE   DOCTOR.  103 

with  the  air  of  a  man  ready  to  furnish  an  estimate,  or  to  em 
body  his  sentiments  in  resolutions ;  and  without  dreaming  of  com 
paring  the  magnificent  moral  force  of  the  patriot  with  the  merely 
intellectual  vigor  of  the  partisan,  I  must  say,  that  as  a  stylist, 
as  a  communicator  of  thoughts,  I  prefer  the  well-laoed  sobriety 
of  Bolingbroke  to  the  Persian  prodigality  of  Burke.  Boling- 
broke  shapes  his  thoughts  into  ornament ;  Burke  weaves  deco 
rations  around  his.  Beauty,  with  one,  is  the  form  of  the  con 
ception  ;  with  the  other,  it  is  the  garniture  of  the  apparel.  Bo- 
lingbroke's  entertainments  are  like  the  European  banquets  on 
silver  plate,  where  what  is  showy,  is  also  useful ;  Burke  reminds 
us  of  that  Asiatic  prince  who  breakfasted  his  friends  on  stacks 
of  roses. 


THE  DOCTOR,  etc.     In  two  vols.  12mo.  (Two  volumes  in  one.)     Harper  and 
Brothers.     Second  Edition. 

[THE  twenty  years  which  have  passed  since  that  strange  literary  work,  "THE 
DOCTOR,"  appeared,  leaves  but  an  imperfect  recollection  with  this  generation, 
of  the  interest  which  the  question  of  its  authorship  excited.  It  was  imputed 
by  most  persons  to  Hartley  Coleridge,  by  many  to  Charles  Lamb,  and  by  others 
to  different  persons ;  some  attributing  it  to  one,  and  some  to  another.  It  was, 
in  most  respects,  so  unlike  any  thing  which  Mr.  Southey  had  ever  written, 
either  in  poetry  or  prose,  that  few  would  have  been  disposed  to  give  it  to  him 
under  any  circumstances.  And  as  he  himself  was  known  to  deny  the  author 
ship,  the  question,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  appeared  to  be  settled.  From 
the  time  that  Mr.  Wallace  read  the  first  twenty  pages  of  the  book,  he  pro 
nounced  with  confidence  that  Southey  was  the  author;  and  after  finishing  the 
first  two  volumes — the  only  ones  which  had  then  appeared — expressed  the 
grounds  of  his  opinion  in  the  anonymous  criticism  which  follows.  A  competent 
judge — Dr.  Shelton  Mackenzie — has  said  of  it,  that  "with  the  sole  exception  of 
Mr.  Adolphus's  Letters  to  Richard  Heber  on  the  authorship  of  the  Waverley 
Novels,  it  is  the  ablest,  clearest,  and  most  complete  thing  of  the  kind  ever  pub 
lished."  Southey  himself,  who  had  heard  of  it,  was  almost  as  curious  to  know 
the  author  of  the  Essay  as  the  public  had  been  to  know  the  author  of  "  The 
Doctor."  But  he  still  denied  that  "  The  Doctor"  was  his.  "  That  such  a  book 
should  be  ascribed  to  me,"  he  said  on  hearing  of  the  Essay,  and  before  ho  saw 
it,  "  I  look  upon  as  the  greatest  compliment  that  could  be  paid  to  any  living 
author,  but  I  shall  not  take  credit  for  it,  as  Porson  did  for  '  The  Devil's  Thoughts.' 
The  argument  proves  only  what  is  apparent  from  other  circumstances ;  that 
the  writer  wishes  it  (for  the  present)  to  pass  for  mine,  and  that  he  is  a  skilful 


104  LITERARY   CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  19. 

imitator.  It  is  evident  that  he  is  very  well  acquainted  with  my  writings  j  and 
I  have  reason  to  think  that  directly  or  indirectly  he  knows  something  of  my 
table  talk.  There  are,  indeed,  some  parts  which  I  should  without  hesitation 
filiate  upon  some  of  my  friends,  if  it  were  not  for  a  persuasion  that  they  would 
not  have  kept  the  secret  from  me."  Mr.  Southey,  it  is  known,  never  at  any 
time  publicly  acknowledged  the  book  as  his. 

Had  the  third  and  fourth  volumes  appeared  at  the  time  this  criticism  was 
written,  the  proofs  of  the  Laureate's  authorship  would  have  been  greatly  accu 
mulated.  As  it  is,  they  will  probably  be  thought  conclusive. — ED.] 

The  reimpression  of  the  two  first  volumes  of  this  work  in 
England,  the  publication  of  a  third  volume,  and  the  announce 
ment  of  a  fourth,  together  with  the  fact  that  one  American 
edition  has  been  exhausted,  and  tliat  another  has  been  demanded, 
indicate  pretty  decisively  such  a  degree  of  interest  in  the  work 
among  the  reading  community  of  both  countries,  as  to  warrant 
an  inquiry  in  regard  to  its  source. 

Excepting  the  letters  of  Junius,  we  do  not  remember  any 
publication,  in  modern  times,  which  has  commanded,  in  any  con 
siderable  degree,  the  popular  attention,  concerning  which  there 
has  long  been  much  doubt  as  to  the  author.  Matthias,  to 
the  last  hour  of  his  life,  denied  any  participation  in  the  "  Pur 
suits  of  Literature,"  but  we  imagine  that  there  are  few  who 
entertain  any  doubts  upon  that  subject.  The  claims  of  Scott  to 
the  title  of  "Author  of  Waverley,"  derived,  in  the  popular  estima 
tion,  very  little  additional  force  from  his  own  formal  acknow 
ledgment  at  the  Theatrical  Fund  Dinner.  No  one  had  the  least 
hesitation  about  the  matter  before.  Mr.  Adolphus's  admirable 
"Letters  to  Richard  Heber"  established,  from  coincidences  in 
thought,  expression,  and  feeling,  between  the  poems  and  the 
novels,  that  the  writer  of  both  was,  beyond  all  question,  the  same. 
Bentley  says,  in  respect  to  some  phrase  in  one  of  Cicero's  ora 
tions,  "Ego  vero  Ciceronemita  scripsisse  Ciceroni  ipsi  a ffir- 
manti  non  credidereim;"  and  we  apprehend  that  most  of  those 
who  read  those  letters,  would  have  been  inclined  to  say,  in  a 
similar  spirit,  "  If  Scott  were  to  say  that  Scott  did  not  write 
'Waverley,'  I  would  not  believe  Scott  himself." 

Upon  the  same  principle,  we  are  abundantly  satisfied,  after  a 
cursory  comparison  of  "  The  Doctor"  with  the  published  writings 


.ETAT.  19.]  AUTHORSHIP    OF   THE    DOCTOR.  1Q5 

of  Robert  Southey,  that  to  that  "  most  book-ful  of  Laureates"  is 
to  be  ascribed  the  paternity  of  the  singular  production.  As 
many  literary  journals  here  and  in  England  have  expressed 
doubts  in  relation  to  this  matter,  we  proceed  to  state  some  of 
the  facts  upon  which  we  ground  our  present  opinion. 

We  are  surprised  that  the  name  of  Hartley  Coleridge  should 
have  been  mentioned  among  those  of  the  possible  authors.  A 
slight  acquaintance  with  his  "  Biographia  Borealis"  would  have 
shown  to  any  one  such  discordances  of  thinking  between  him 
and  the  author  of  "  The  Doctor"  as  to  settle  his  pretensions  at 
once.  Hartley  is  an  ardent  whig,  an  admirer  of  the  modern 
systems  of  education  and  politics,  and  a  panegyrist  of  Brougham ; 
while  the  other  is  a  strenuous  tory,  a  man  thoroughly  wrapt  in 
the  old  forms  of  feeling,  and  at  the  opposite  pole  of  sentiment,  as 
to  politics  and  the  instruction  of  the  people,  from  the  ex-Lord 
Chancellor.  Would  Hartley  Coleridge  have  written  these  pas 
sages,  sneering  at  a  father  for  whom  it  is  evident,  from  his 
volumes  of  poems,  that  he  bears  such  tender  and  profound  af 
fection  ?  "A  metaphysician,  or  as  some  of  my  contemporaries 
would  affect  to  say,  a  psychologist."  (Doctor,  i.,  76.)  "Is  it 
Coleridge  ?  The  method  indeed  of  the  book  might  lead  to  such 
a  suspicion — but  then  it  is  intelligible  throughout."  (Doctor, 
ii.,  86.)  Would  a  bachelor  have  penned  this  sentence  ?  "A 
bachelor,  a  single  man,  an  imperfect  individual,  half  only  of  the 
whole  being  which,  by  the  laws  of  nature  and  of  Christian  po 
lity,  it  was  intended  that  man  should  become  ?"  (Doctor,  ii.,  61.) 
Or,  on  the  other  hand,  would  the  author  of  "  The  Doctor" — a 
churchman,  and  a  conservative,  indeed,  in  whom  there  is  no 
flinching — have  expressed  such  opinions  as  are  contained  in  these 
passages  by  Hartley  Coleridge  ?  "We  cannot  but  think  that  a 
yearly  thanksgiving  for  the  invention  of  printing  might  be  very 
advantageously  substituted  for  certain  courtly  services  in  the  lit 
urgy,  which  were  always  base  and  blasphemous,  and  are  now 
utterly  unmeaning."  (Biog.  Borealis,  131.)  "Greek  was  an 
innovation,  and  liable  to  the  same  plausible  and  prudential  ob 
jections  which  apply  to  innovations  in  general."  (Ibid,,  3-14.) 
Or  would  this  unknown — brimful  and  overflowing  as  he  is  with 


106  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [JETAT.  19. 

knowledge  of  the  old  English  writers — have  had  occasion  to  add 
in  a  note,  after  quoting  a  short  sentence  from  Fuller  :  "  Such  at 
least  is  Fuller's  meaning  and  illustration.  I  am  afraid  I  have 
not  quoted  his  words  exactly,  for,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  know  not 
in  which  of  his  works  to  look  for  them.  But  I  recollect  reading 
the  sentiment  in  'Lamb's  Selections.'  "  (Biog.  Borealis,  322.) 
We  apprehend  that  he  who  wrote  "The  Doctor,"  is  not  in 
the  habit  of  being  indebted  to  Lamb's  nor  to  any  one  else's 
"  selections"  for  his  acquaintance  with  the  old  worthies.  Is  not 
this  sentence  more  in  keeping  with  the  character  of  "  multo- 
scribbling"  Southey,  than  with  that  of  an  author  who  has  pub 
lished  only  two  very  narrowly-circulated  works  ?  "I  have 
oftentimes  had  the  happiness  of  seeing  due  commendations  be 
stowed  by  gentle  critics,  unknown  admirers,  and  partial  friends 
upon  my  pen,  which  has  been  married  to  all  amiable  epithets  ; 
classical,  fine,  powerful,  tender,  touching,  pathetic,  strong,  fanci 
ful,  daring,  elegant,  sublime,  beautiful."  (Doctor,  i.,  39.)  The 
following  passage  has  no  propriety  as  coming  from  Hartley 
Coleridge,  whose  excursions  upon  Pegassus  have  been  in  a  very 
regular  way,  while  it  exactly  and  most  felicitously  describes  the 
poetry  of  Southey,  which  is  chiefly  upon  the  wildest  subjects 
and  in  the  wildest  measures.  "  Tell  me  not  of  Pegassus  !  I 
have  ridden  him  many  a  time  ;  *  *  high  and  low,  far  and  wide, 
round  the  earth,  and  about  it,  and  over  it,  and  under  it.  I  know 
all  his  earth  paces  and  his  sky  paces.  I  have  tried  him  at  a 
walk,  at  an  amble,  at  a  trot,  at  a  canter,  at  a  hand  gallop,  at 
a  full  gallop,  and  at  full  speed.  I  have  proved  him  in  the  ma 
nege  with  single  turns  and  the  manege  with  double  turns,  his 
bounds,  his  curvets,  his  pirouettes,  and  his  pistes,  and  his  crou- 
pade,  and  his  balstade,  his  gallop  galliard,  and  his  capriole." 
(Doctor,  i.,  25-6.)  The  writer  of  this  book  is  manifestly  a  much 
older  man,  and  a  much  more  practiced  writer,  than  Southey's 
nephew,  and  accustomed  to  deliver  his  opinions  with  far  greater 
authority  than  can  attach  to  the  sentiments  of  one  so  little  known. 
Mr.  Southey  has  always  been  distinguished  for  an  affected 
use  of  certain  uncommon  words,  some  obsolete,  some  new-coined ; 
and  there  is  scarcely  one  of  these  verbal  peculiarities  which  does 


JEiAT.  19.]  AUTHORSHIP  OF  THE  DOCTOR.  107 

not  occur  very  frequently  in  "  The  Doctor."  Such  are,  the  verb 
"worsen"  (Southey's  "Essays,"  I,  85  ;  ii.,  23  ;  ii.,  237  ;  "  Col 
loquies,"  i.,  46  ;  i.,  59 ;  i.,  236 ;  ii.,  273 ;  Doctor,  ii.,  142, 
186) ;  the  adjective  " worser,"  the  noun  "  dispathy,"  (Colloquies, 
i.,  18 ;  Doctor,  ii.,  118,)  and  many  others  of  a  similar  stamp. 

Southey,  in  his  notes  to  the  poem  of  "  Roderick,"  (and  else 
where  when  he  uses  the  word,)  always  writes  "Mussulmen"  as 
the  plural  of  "Mussulman,"  instead  of  the  correct  and  general 
expression,  "Mussulmans  ;"  and  we  remember  that  when  "Ro 
derick"  appeared,  this  deviation  was  animadverted  upon  by  the 
reviewers  in  "The  Christian  Observer."  As  Southey,  however, 
has  continued  the  custom,  we  presume  that  he  does  it  on  con 
viction  of  its  propriety.  Now  the  author  of  "  The  Doctor" 
adopts  the  same  unusual  fashion  :  "  The  English  might  have  been 
'Mussulmen.'"  (Doctor,  i.,  198.)  "Remarks  which  are  not  in 
tended  for  Mussulmen."  (Doctor,  i.,  92.  Contents  of  the  Inter- 
chapter.)  Throughout  the  work  we  find  continued  traces  of  Mr. 
Southey's  personal  feelings  ;  in  the  high  praise  of  the  unpopular 
Walter  Landor,  and  the  despised  Sir  Egerton  Brydges,  both 
being  the  Laureate's  particular  friends,  and  the  latter  having 
scarcely  ever  been  quoted  by  anybody  else :  in  the  sneers 
against  Lord  Byron,  Mr.  Jeffrey,  and  others  who  have  given 
him  occasion  of  offence,  and  whom,  like  the  "portentous  cub" 
of  old,  he  has  always  pursued  with  scorn ;  for  the  warmest  ad 
mirers  of  Mr.  Southey  must  allow  that,  if  he  never  forgets  a 
friend,  he  never  forgives  an  enemy.  In  the  parliament  of  1817, 
there  sat  a  certain  Mr.  William  Smith,  who  insulted  Southey, 
by  calling  upon  the  attorney-general  to  prosecute  him  for  pub 
lishing  "Wat  Tyler,"  and  whose  worthless  carcass  Southey 
hewed  in  pieces  in  a  most  terrific  "  Letter."  Who  is  there  now, 
in  all  England,  except  the  author  of  this  letter,  who  would  have 
retained  recollection  enough  and  feeling  enough  about  this  Mr. 
Smith,  to  have  made  him  the  object  of  the  sneer  which  we  find 
in  the  second  volume  of  "  The  Doctor  ?"  And,  what  is  remark 
able,  we  find  the  same  topic  of  reproach  urged  against  him  in 
Southey's  "  Letter"  and  in  this  book — the  reproach  of  having  the 
feelings  of  a  dissenter  : 


108 


LITERARY    CRITICISMS. 


[J3TAT.  19. 


"Is  it  Smith?  which  of  the  Smiths? 
*  *  There  is  Sidney,  who  is  Joke 
Smith  to  the  Edinburgh  Review,  and 
William,  who  is  Motion  Smith  to  the 
dissenters,  orthodox  and  heterodox,  in 
parliament,  having  been  elected  to 
represent  them — to  wit,  the  aforesaid 
dissenters  —  by  the  citizens  of  Nor 
wich."—  The  Doctor,  ii.,  87. 


"  The  poem  may  possibly  have  been 
honored  with  a  place  in  Mr.  William 
Smith'slibrary,  as  it  received  the  appro 
bation  of  all  the  dissenting  journals  of 
the  day.  It  is  possible  that  their  re 
commendation  may  have  induced  him 
to  favor  'Joan  of  Arc'  with  a  perusal." 
— Southey's  Letter  to  Smith. 


In  the  same  chapter,  where  the  author  is  speculating  about 
the  persons  to  whom  his  work  will  be  attributed,  we  find  this 
singular  sentence  about  Person  :  "  And  Professor  Porson,  if  he 
were  not  gone  where  his  Greek  is  of  no  use  to  him,  would  ac 
cept  credit  for  it,  though  he  would  not  claim  it."  (Doctor,  ii., 
85.)  To  explain  this,  it  must  be  remembered  that  Southey,  in 
conjunction  with  the  late  Mr.  Coleridge,  wrote  a  poem  called 
"  The  Devil's  Walk,"  which,  while  it  was  anonymous,  Porson  re 
cited  so  frequently  and  mysteriously,  that  during  his  whole  life 
he  was  supposed  to  be  the  author  of  it,  and  he  never  denied  the 
honor :  "he  accepted  credit  for  it,  though  he  would  not  claim  it." 

Southey,  in  the  early  part  of  his  career,  went  to  London  to 
study  law,  and,  like  most  persons  who  do  not  study  it  profoundly, 
imbibed  a  most  hearty  hatred  both  for  its  theory  and  practice — 
a  hatred  which  is  constantly  appearing  in  his  writings,  and 
which  equally  belongs  to  the  author  of  "  The  Doctor." 


"  But  no  suggestions  could  ever 
have  induced  Daniel  to  choose  for 
him  the  profession  of  the  law.  The 
very  name  of  lawyer  was  to  him  a 
word  of  evil  acceptation.  He  knew 
that  laws  were  necessary  evils  ;  but  ho 
thought  they  were  much  greater  evils 
than  there  was  any  necessity  that  they 
should  be  :  and  believing  this  to  he  oc 
casioned  by  those  who  were  engaged 
in  the  trade  of  administering  them,  he 
looked  upon  lawyers  as  the  greatest 
pests  in  the  country." — The  Doctor,  i., 
136. 

"  The  most  upright  lawyer  acquires 
a  sort  of  Swiss  conscience  for  profes 
sional  use ;  to  resist  a  rightful  claim 
with  all  the  devices  of  legal  subtlety, 
and  all  the  technicalities  of  legal  craft  : 
I  know  not  how  he  who  considers  this 


"  Law-craft,  if  not  a  twin  fiend  with 
priest-craft,  is  an  imp  of  the  same 
stock;  and  perhaps  the  worser  devil 
of  the  two."— Colloquies,  i.,  108. 

"He  who  may  wish  to  show  with 
what  absurd  perversion  the  forms  and 
technicalities  of  law  are  applied  to  ob 
struct  the  purposes  of  justice,  which 
they  were  designed  to  further,  may 
find  excellent  examples  in  England." 
— Colloquies,  i.,  8. 

"  The  worst  grievance  that  exists — 
the  enormous  expenses,  the  chicanery, 
and  the  ruinous  delays  of  the  law." — 
Essays,  ii.,  29. 

"  We  venture  to  ask  whether  it  be  ab 
solutely  necessary  that  so  many  loop 
holes  should  be  left  for  the  escape  of 
guilt?  Whether  the  purposes  of  just 
ice  are  not  sacrificed  to  the  technicalities 


2ETAT.    19.] 


AUTHORSHIP  OF  THE  DOCTOR. 


109 


to  be  his  duty  toward  his  client  can 
reconcile  it  with  his  duty  toward  his 
neighbor."— (The  Doctor,  ii.,  60.)  See 
the  whole  of  page  60  and  page  61. 

"You  employ  lawyers  to  express 
your  meaning  in  a  deed  of  conveyance, 
a  marriage  settlement,  or  a  will ;  and 
they  so  smother  it  with  words,  so  en 
velop  it  with  technicalities,  so  bury 
it  beneath  redundancies  of  speech, 
that  any  meaning  which  is  sought  for 
may  be  picked  out,  to  the  confusion 
of  that  which  you  intended.  You  ask 
for  justice,  and  you  receive  a  nice  dis 
tinction — a  forced  construction — a  ver 
bal  criticism.  By  such  means  you  are 
defeated  and  plundered  in  a  civil  cause  ; 
and  in  a  criminal  one,  a  slip  of  the 
pen  in  the  indictment  brings  off  the 
criminal  scot  free." — The  Doctor,  i., 
181. 


of  law,  which  is  sacrificing  the  end  to 
the  means  ?  and  whether  the  weight 
which  is  allowed  to  flaws  and  inform 
alities  in  the  practice  of  our  courts, 
and  the  importance  which  is  attached 
to  things  so  utterly  insignificant  in 
themselves,  be  a  whit  more  honorable 
to  the  profession  of  the  law,  than  the 
grossest  quackery  is  to  the  science  of 
medicine." — Essays,  ii.,  177. 


He  goes  on  to  give  instances  of  criminals  escaping  by  verbal 
error  in  the  indictment. 

We  subjoin  other  coincidences  in  opinion,  and  similarities  in 
thought  and  expression  : 


''The  auxiliaries  must,  have,  and 
been,  which  enabled  WMtaker,  of  Man 
chester,  to  write  whole  quartos  of  hy 
pothetical  history  in  the  potential 
mood."—  The  Doctor,  i.,  28. 

"  Whether  the  children  went  to  seek 
school  or  not,  it  was  his  wish  that  they 
should  be  taught  their  prayers,  the 
creed,  and  the  commandments,  at 
home.  These  he  thought  were  better 
learned  at  the  mother's  knees  than 
from  any  other  teacher." — The  Doctor, 
ii.,  186. 

"The  child  should  receive  from  her 
its  first  spiritual  food,  the  milk  of  sound 
doctrine." — The  Doctor,  i.,  186. 


"But  he  had  a  wise  heart,  and  the 
wisdom  of  the  heart  is  worth  all  other 
wisdom."—  The  Doctor,  i.,  62. 


10 


"  Whitaker,  the  hypothetical  histo 
rian  of  Manchester." — Vindicice  Ec- 
clesice  Anglicance,  225. 


"  The  rudiments  of  religion  are  best 
learned  at  our  mother's  knees." — Es 
says,  ii.,  144. 

"  The  habits  of  religion  which  a  boy 
learns  at  his  mother's  knees." — Collo 
quies,  294. 


"  Fed  with  the  milk  of  sound  doc 
trine." — Essays,  ii.,  143. 

"  They  must  be  fed  with  the  milk  of 
sound  doctrine." — Essays,  ii.,  225. 

"  The  richness  of  his  mind,  and  the 
wisdom  of  his  heart,  for  in  the  heart 
it  is  that  true  wisdom  has  its  seat." — 
Vindicice,  6. 

"  The  wisdom  of  the  heart  is  want 
ing  there." — Colloquies,  ii.,  264. 

"In  the  wisdom  of  the  heart  he  was 
far  beyond  that  ago." — Colloquies,  i., 
102. 


110 


LITERARY  CRITICISMS. 


19. 


"  A  metaphysician  #  *  if  he  were  at 
all  master  of  his  art  babblative." — The 
Doctor,  L,  76. 

"The  soporific  sermons  which 
closed  the  domestic  religiosities  of 
those  melancholy  days." — The  Doctor, 


"  Professors  of  the  arts  babblative 
and  scribblative." — Colloquies,  ii.,  48. 


"A  feverish  state  of  what  may 
better  be  called  religiosity  than  re 
ligion." — Colloquies,  ii.,  102. 


Both  of  our  authors  believe  in  ghosts,  and  there  is  some  simi 
larity  in  their  mode  of  defining  their  belief : 


"The  belief  in  apparitions,  which 
was  all  but  universal  a  century  ago, 
is  still,  and  ever  will  be  held  by  the 
great  majority  of  mankind.  Call  it  a 
prejudice  if  you  will." 

"  What  is  a  universal  prejudice, 
says  Reginald  Heber,  but  the  voice  of 
human  nature?" — The  Doctor,  ii.,  180. 

"  That  the  spirits  of  the  departed  are 
permitted  to  appear  only  for  special 
purposes,  is  what  the  most  credulous 
believer  in  such  appearances  would 
probably  admit,  if  he  reasoned  at  all 
on  the  subject." — The  Doctor,  ibid. 


"You  believe  then  in  apparitions," 
said  my  visitor. 

"Even  so,  sir.  That  such  things 
should  be,  is  probable  a  priori ;  and 
I  cannot  refuse  assent  to  the  strong 
evidence  that  such  things  are,  nor  to 
the  common  consent  which  has  pre 
vailed  among  all  people,  every  where, 
in  all  ages." — Colloquies,  i.,  11. 

"My  serious  belief  amounts  to  this: 
that  preternatural  impressions  are 
sometimes  communicated  for  wise  pur 
poses  ;  and  that  departed  spirits  are 
sometimes  permitted  to  manifest  them 
selves." —  Colloquies,  i.,  11. 


In  strongly  advocating  the  culture  of  bogs  and  waste  lands, 
Southey  and  the  author  of  "  The  Doctor"  agree  : 


The  cultivation  of  bogs  "  is  the 
readiest  way  in  which  useful  employ 
ment  can  be  provided  for  the  indust 
rious  poor.  And  if  the  land  so  appro 
priated  should  produce  nothing  more 
than  is  required  for  the  support  of 
those  employed  in  cultivating  it,  and 
who  must  otherwise  be  partly  or 
wholly  supported  by  the  poor-rates, 
such  cultivation  would  even  then  be 
profitable  to  the  public." — The  Doctor, 
i.,  163. 

"Is  it  fitting  that  this  should  be, 
while  there  are  fifteen  millions  of  cul 
tivable  acres  lying  waste  ?  Is  it  pos 
sible  to  conceive  grosser  improvidence 
in  a  nation,  grosser  folly,"  etc. —  The 
Doctor,  i.,  162. 


"  Give  them  employment  in  public 
works;  bring  the  bogs  into  cultiva 
tion." — Essays,  ii.,  442. 

"It  will  not  always  be  the  reproach 
of  this  kingdom  that  large  tracts  of 
land  are  lying  waste  while  thousands 
are  wanting  employment,  and  tens  of 
thousands  owe,  their  chief  means  of 
support  to  the  poor-rates." — Colloquies, 
ii.,  274. 

"  Surely  it  is  allowable  to  hope  that 
whole  districts  will  not  always  be  suf 
fered  to  lie  waste  while  multitudes  are 
in  want  of  employment  and  bread." — 
Essays,  ii.,  25.  See  also,  ibid.,  i.,  113  j 
ii.,  29. 


They  accord,  as  well,  in  thinking  that  much  may  be  done  by 
individuals  in  relieving  the  grievance  of  the  poor-laws  : 


"Let  parishes  and  corporations  do         "  It  should  be  well  understood  how 
what  is  in  their  power  for  themselves,     large   a  part  of  the  evil  arises  from 


.    19.] 


AUTHORSHIP  OF  THE  DOCTOR. 


Ill 


And  bestir  yourselves  in  this  good 
work,  ye  who  can  !  The  supineness  of 
the  government  is  no  excuse  for  you. 
It  is  in  the  exertions  of  individuals 
that  all  national  reformation  must  be 
gin.—  The  Doctor,  i.,  162. 


causes  which  are  completely  -within 
the  power  of  the  local  magistrates,  and 
how  much  might  be  accomplished  by 
the  efforts  of  benevolent  individuals 
which  cannot  be  reached  by  any  le 
gislative  enactment." — Essays,  ii.,  116. 
Same  sentiment  in  Essays,  ii.,  106. 


Here  are  other  opinions  wherein  the  two  do  "  marvellously 


agree  :" 

"  They  were  plain  people,  who  had 
neither  manufactories  to  corrupt,  ale 
houses  to  brutalize,  nor  newspapers  to 
mislead  them." — The  Doctor,  ii.,  182. 


"During  the  summer  and  part  of 
the  autumn,  he  followed  the  good  old 
usage  of  catechizing  the  children  after 
the  second  lesson  in  the  evening  ser 
vice.  Once  a  week  during  Lent  he 
examined  all  the  children  on  a  week 
day :  the  last  examination  was  in 
Easter  week,  after  which  each  was 
sent  home  happy  with  a  homely  cake, 
the  gift  of  a  wealthy  parishoner,"  etc. 
—  The  Doctor,  ii.,  186-7. 


"The  dispersion  of  families  and  the 
consequent  disruption  of  natural  ties." 
—  The  Doctor,  ii.,  197. 


"  The  multiplication  of  ale-houses  is 
not  less  surely  the  effect  and  the  cause 
of  an  increased  and  increasing  de 
pravity  of  manners." — Essays,  ii.,  117. 

"For  the  laboring  man,  the  ale 
house  is  now  a  place  of  pure  un- 
mingled  evil. — Essays,  ii.,  120. 

"Your  manufactories  have  produced 
a  moral  pestilence  unknown  to  all  pre 
ceding  ages." — Colloquies,  i.,  50. 

On  this  point  see  Southey,  passim. 

On  the  evil  of  newspapers.  See  Es 
says,  L,  120,  and  ii.,  170. 

"Were  the  children  catechized  in 
the  church  at  stated  seasons,  according 
to  the  good  old  custom,  a  few  trifling 
rewards  to  the  children  themselves, 
and  a  few  marks  of  encouragement  to 
those  parents  who  deserved  it,  would 
produce  greater  and  better  effects  upon 
both,"  etc. — Essays,  ii.,  144-5. 

In  his  Essays,  he  supposes  the  case 
of  a  parish  as  it  should  be  : 

"The  children  of  the  other  inhabi 
tants  would  be  examined  in  the  ele 
ments  of  religion  on  stated  days  in  the 
church,  and  receive  from  the  clergy 
man,  after  ihe final  examination,  some 
little  reward  proportioned  to  their 
deserts;  some  remuneration  of  that 
kind  which  is  acceptable  to  all,  being, 
however,  distributed  to  all  who  had 
attended  regularly,  without  distinction, 
as  the  means  of  rendering  attendance, 
a  thing  desired  by  the  children  them 
selves." — Essays,  ii.,  148. 

"The  dispersion  of  families  and 
breaking  up  of  family  ties." — Essays, 
ii.,  114. 

"  There  is  evil,  great  evil,  in  this 
disruption  of  natural  ties,"  (by  the 
separation  of  families.) — Colloquies,  ii., 
259. 

"  The  disruption  of  natural  tics."— 
Vindiciai,  293. 


112 


LITERARY  CRITICISMS. 


.  19. 


"With  all  this  expenditure,  cases 
are  continually  occur  ing  of  death  by 
starvation,  either  of  hunger  or  of  cold, 
or  both  together;  wretches  are  carried 
before  the  magistrates  for  the  offence 
of  living  in  the  streets,  or  in  un 
finished  houses,  when  they  had  not 
where  to  hide  their  heads  ;  others  have 
been  found  dead  by  the  side  of  lime 
kilns  or  brick-kilns,  whither  they  had 
crept  to  save  themselves  from  perishing 
with  cold."—  The  Doctor,  i.,  162. 


"  Trade  itself  had  not  then  been  cor 
rupted  by  that  ruinous  spirit  of  com 
petition,  which,  more  than  any  other  of 
the  evils  now  pressing  upon  us,  de 
serves  to  be  called  the  curse  of  Eng 
land  in  the  present  age." — The  Doctor, 
ii.,  195. 


"As  if  scorn  had  been  the  influenza 
of  the  female  mind  that  morning." — 
The  Doctor,  i.,  29. 

"  Such  preachers  have  never  failed 
to  appear  during  the  prevalence  of  any 
religious  influenza." — The  Doctor,  i,, 
25. 


"The  soul  of  Hans  Engelbrecht  not 
only  went  to  hell,  but  brought  back 
from  it  a  stench  which  proved  to  all 
the  bystanders  that  it  had  been  there." 
—  The  Doctor,  i.,  25. 


"But  let  this  quackery  pass." — The 
Doctor,  i.,  187. 

"And  here  Horrebow,  the  Natural 
Historian  of  Iceland — if  Horrebow 
had  been  his  biographer — would  have 


"Hence  these  shocking  instances  of 
persons  dropping  down  in  the  streets, 
or  crawling  to  brick-kilns,  and  dying 
from  inanition,  cases  which  could  not 
happen  in  a  country  where  so  many 
laws  have  been  enacted,  and  such 
heavy  imposts  are  raised  for  the  re 
lief  of  poverty,  unless  there  were  some 
thing  radically  erroneous  in  the  system 
of  administering  tbat  relief,  something 
that  increases  the  evil  that  it  was  in 
tended  to  remove." — Essays,  ii.,  170. 

"I  say  nothing  of  those  who  perish 
for  want  of  sufficient  food  and  neces 
sary  comforts,  the  victims  of  slow  suf 
fering  and  obscure  disease;  nor  of 
those  who  having  crept  to  some  brick 
kiln  at  night,  in  hope  of  preserving  life 
by  its  warmth,  are  found  there  dead 
in  the  morning." — Colloquies,  ii.,  259. 

"So  long  as  men  in  trade  are  actu 
ated  by  selfishness,  which  is  the  spirit 
of  trade,  and  as  competition,  which  is 
the  life  of  trade,  continues  unrestrained, 
so  long  will  a  manufacturing  country 
be  liable  to  the  distress  that  arises 
from  having  overstocked  its  markets." 
—Essays,  ii.,  268. 

"  In  the  competition  of  trade,  one  ill 
principle  sometimes  counteracts  an 
other,  and  yet  both  being  ill,  work  for 
ill."— Colloquies,  ii.,  246-7. 

"  The  intellectual  atmosphere  had 
received  its  taint ;  and  as  an  influenza 
beginning  in  Tartary  travels  from 
China,  throughout  the  whole  inhabited 
part  of  the  old  continent,  so  was  this 
moral  pestilence  to  run  its  course." — 
Essays,  ii.,  74. 

"  The  moral  influenza  of  method- 
ism." —  Colloquies,  ii.,  204. 

"Did  you  ever,  Sir,  meet  with  the 
' divine  visions  of  Hans  Engelbrecht?' 
He  not  only  went  to  the  place  of  tor 
ments,  like  Drithelm,  and  smelt  the 
stink  of  the  infernal  pit,  but  brought 
some  of  the  stink  back  with  him,  to 
convince  his  friends  that  he  had  been 
there."—  Vindicice,  187. 

"  But  let  this  folly  pass." —  Vindicice, 

p.  48. 

"With  this  I  conclude  a  letter  which 
may  remind  the  reader  of  the  chapter 
concerning  owls  in  Horrebow's  Na- 


JETAT.   19.] 


AUTHORSHIP  OF  THE  DOCTOR. 


113 


ended  this  chapter." — The  Doctor,  i.,  \  tural  History  of  Iceland." — Vindicice, 
229.  I  57. 

Both  of  these  gentlemen  revenge  themselves  on  the  bulk  of 
Rees's  Encyclopaedia  by  docking  it  of  the  initial  En : 


"He  would  have  filled  more  vol 
umes  than  Rees's  Cyclopedia." — The 
Doctor,  ii.,  116. 

"  Which  Lord  Byron  is  as  incapable 
of  understanding,  or  even  believing 
in  another,  as  he  is  of  feeling  it  in 
himself."—  The  Doctor,  ii.,  81. 


"Would  have  filled  more  volumes 
than  Dr.  Rees's  Cyclopoedia." — Vin- 
dicice,  101. 

"A  feeling,  of  which  Lord  Byron 
had  no  conception,  would  have  with 
held  me  from  animadverting  in  that 
manner  upon  his  conduct." — Southey'a 
second  Letter  concerning  Lord  Byron. 


Argument  against  Southey  might  be  thought  derivable  from 
the  sneering  use  of  Wynn's  name  on  page  146,  vol.  i. — Wynn 
being  one  of  Southey's  oldest  and  dearest  friends — to  whom 
both  Madoc  and  the.  Vindiciee  are  dedicated.  But  there  is  a 
passage  in  the  Essays  which  not  only  affords  precedent  for  this 
use  of  Wynn's  name,  but  may  be  considered  as  the  germ  of  the 
idea  in  "  The  Doctor."  The  coincidence  is  very  striking.  He  is 
speaking  of  Catholic  emancipation  : 


Speaking  of  the  bells  to  be  rung  for 
the  triumph  of  the  Catholic  cause : 
"  And  to  commemorate  the  extraordi 
nary  union  of  sentiment  which  that 
cause  has  brought  about  between  per 
sons  not  otherwise  remarkable  for  any 
similitude  of  feelings  or  opinions,  they 
might  unite  two  or  more  names  in  one 
bell,  and  thus,  with  a  peculiar  felicity 
of  compliment,  show  who  and  who, 
upon  this  great  and  memorable  occa 
sion,  pulled  together.  In  such  a  case 
the  names  selected  for  a  peal  of  eight 
tunable  bells  might  run  thus  : 

"1.  Canning  O'Connel.  2.  Plunket 
Shiel.  3.  Agustus  Frederick  Gobbet. 
4.  Williams  Wynn.  5.  BurdettWaith- 
man.  6.  Greenville  Wood.  7. 
Palmerston  Hume.  8.  Lawless 
Brougham."—  The  Doctor,  i.,  146. 

"  The  angelic  Doctor,  St.  Thomas 
Aquinas,  this  greatest  of  the  school 
men." —  The  Doctor,  ii.  115. 


"  An  eloquent  and  wise  and  thought 
ful  author." — The  Doctor. 

10* 


"  How  is  the  Marquis  of  Lansdowne 
to  agree  with  his  Irish  tenants  and 
with  Captain  Rock  in  this  matter? 
Earl  Gray  with  Joseph  Hume  ?  Mr. 
Grant  with  Mr.  Doyle  ?  Lord  Plunket 
with  Mr.  O'Connel?  Mr.  Williams 
Wynn  with  Gobbet  and  Jack  Lawless  ?" 
—Essays,  ii.,  370. 


St.  Thomas  Aquinas,  "  a  man  whose 
extraordinary  powers  of  mind  few  per 
sons  are  competent  to  appreciate." — 
Vindicice,  329. 

"  With  the  wise  and  the  thoughtful." 
—  Colloquies,  ii.,  173. 


114 


LITERARY  CRITICISMS. 


.  19. 


"You  surely  do  not  expect  that  tho 
millennium  is  to  be  brought  about  by 
the  triumph  of  what  are  called  liberal 
opinions,  nor  by  Sunday  schools,  and 
Religious  Tract  Societies,  nor  by  all 
the  portentous  bibliolatry  of  the  age." 
— Colloquies,  i.,  35. 


"Hopes  scarcely  less  delightful  than 
those  which  seemed  to  dawn  upon 
mankind  with  the  discovery  of  the 
gases,  and  with  the  commencement 
of  the  French  Revolution,  and  in  these 
latter  days  with  the  progress  of  the 
Bible  Society." — The  Doctor,  i.,  54. 

"  Sunday  schools,  which  make  Sun 
day  a  day  of  toil  to  teachers,  and  the 
most  irksome  day  in  the  week  to  child 
ren." —  The  Doctor,  ii.,  186. 

"Long  before  Sunday  schools  — 
whether  for  good  or  evil — were  in 
vented.  Patrons  and  patronesses  of 
Sunday  schools,  be  not  offended  if  a 
doubt  concerning  their  utility  be  here 
implied  !  The  Doctor  entertained  such 
a  doubt,  and  the  why  and  the  where 
fore  shall  in  due  time  be  fairly  stated." 
— The  Doctor,  ii.,  55. 


Southey  was  a  republican  in  his  youth,  and  is  a  tory  in  his 
manhood,  and  thus  has  contrived  to  get  abused  by  both  parties  : 
and  it  seems,  strangely  enough,  that  the  unknown  "  Doctor" 
shared  the  same  fate  : 


"  Your  dealers  in  public  and  private 
scandal,  whether  Jacobins  or  Anti- 
Jacobins,  the  pimps  and  panders  of  a 
profligate  press." — The  Doctor,  i.,  41. 


"All  the  abuse  and  calumny  with 
which,  from  one  party  or  the  other, 
Anti-Jacobins  or  Jacobins,  I  have 
been  assailed." — Essays,  ii.,  30. 

"A  spirit  of  Anti-Jacobinism  was 
predominant,  which  was  as  unjust  and 
as  intolerant,  though  not  quite  as  fe 
rocious,  as  the  Jacobinism  of  the  pre 
sent  day." — Essays,  ii.,  10. 


The  peace  of  Utrecht  galls  both  of  them  : 


"Harley,  famous  for  his  library, 
and  infamous  for  the  peace  of 
Utrecht."—  The  Doctor,  i.,  55. 


"Did  Lord  Lauderdale  know  that 
children  inevitably  lacerate  them 
selves  in  learning  this  dreadful  occu 
pation  ?  that  they  are  frequently  crip 
pled  by  it?  frequently  lose  their  lives 


"  England  never  had  so  much  in  her 
power  as  during  the  conferences  at 
Utrecht,  and  never  did  she  appear  in 
so  degraded  and  disgraceful  a  cha 
racter.  *  *  The  faction  which  then, 
for  its  own  sinister  purposes,  betrayed 
the  interests  of  Europe." — Essays,  ii., 
66. 

"Harley,  who  betrayed  Europe  at 
Utrecht." — History  of  the  Peninsular 
War,  ii.,  58. 

Chimney  sweeping.  "  Children  can 
not  be  compelled  to  learn  it,  frightful 
and  perilous  as  it  is,  without  cruelty  :  it 
induces  a  peculiar  and  fatal  disorder, 
so  common  as  to  be  called  the  chimney 


J2TAT.    19.] 


AUTHORSHIP  OF  THE  DOCTOR. 


115 


in  it  by  suffocation,  or  by  slow  fire  ? 
that  it  induces  a  peculiar  and  dread 
ful  disease,  and  that  those  who  sur 
vive,  have  at  the  age  of  seventeen  or 
eighteen  to  seek  their  living  how  they 
can  in  some  other  employment,  for  it 
is  only  by  children  that  this  can  be 
carried  on."—  The  Doctor,  i.,  90. 


sweeper's  disease ;  and  the  boys  who 
escape  the  disease,  and  are  neither 
killed  by  filth  nor  hard  usage,  outgrow 
the  employment  when  they  shoot  into 
manhood,  and  find  themselves  adrift 
upon  the  world,  without  any  means 
of  getting  a  livelihood." — Essays,  L, 


Both  have  noticed  what  I  do  not  remember  to  have  seen  ob 
served  elsewhere — that  by  English  writers — Swift,  Sidney,  and 
others — "  Stella"  is  erroneously  employed  for  a  female  name. 


"  Cleon  serving  for  a  name  feminine 
in  French,  as  Stella  has  done  in 
English."—  The  Doctor  ii.,  110. 


"  The  law  would  not  allow  him  to 
marry  his  brother's  widow;  a  law,  be 
it  remarked  in  passing,  which  is  not 
sanctioned  by  reason,  and  which,  in 
stead  of  being  in  conformity  with 
scripture,  is  in  direct  opposition  to  it, 
being  in  fact  the  mere  device  of  a  cor 
rupt  and  greedy  church." — The  Doctor, 
L,  37. 


"Is  Sidney  the  first  person  who 
used  *  Stella'  as  a  female  name  ?  He 
must  have  known  it  was  a  man's  name 
among  the  Romans." — Sonthey't  Let 
ters  to  Brydges — Brydgea'  Autobiog.,  ii., 
282. 

"No  extenuation  can  be  offered  for 
these  prohibitions,  which  were  not 
more  unwarranted  by  the  laws  of  God 
and  man,  than  they  were  unreasonable 
in  themselves,  and  vexatious  in  their 
operation." — Vindicice,  235. 

He  says  (ibid.)  that  the  object  of  the 
Romish  church  in  making  these  pro 
hibitions  was  to  increase  its  revenue 
by  the  prices  of  permission — which 
explains  the  word  "greedy." 


We  have  thus  placed  in  juxtaposition  some  passages,  (and  we 
might  easily  double  their  number,)  which  seem  to  us  to  afford  de 
cisive  proof  of  proceeding  from  the  same  author.  The  peculiarity 
of  the  sentiments  is  as  worthy  of  notice  as  their  coincidence.  On 
both  sides  a  tory  is  seen  condemning  the  peace  of  Utrecht,  and 
arguing  for  law  reform,  two  things  which  tories  are  not  used  to 
do  :  both  seem  to  have  suffered  from  Jacobin  and  Anti-Jacobin 
abuse— and  where  is  the  man,  beside  Southey,  to  whom  that 
answers  ?  Both  condemn  manufactories,  ale-houses,  and  news 
papers  :  both  strongly  argue  the  cultivation  of  waste  lands,  and 
condemn  competition  in  trade  ;  both,  being  religious  men,  oppose 
Sunday  Schools  and  Bible  Societies  ;  both  advocate  catechising : 
both  argue  that  the  poor-laws  are  so  administered  as  to  enhance 
the  evil  they  were  designed  to  check,  and  the  imagination  of 
both  has  been  singularly  impressed  with  the  circumstance  of 


116  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^ETAT.  19. 

poor  persons  dying  in  brick-kilns ;  both  are  anxious  to  remove 
the  evil  of  children  sweeping  chimneys  ;  both  ridicule  phrenology ; 
and  by  both  authors  is  displayed  an  unlimited  command  and  use 
of  the  stores  of  Italian,  Spanish,  and  old  English  literature. 
The  author  of  "  The  Doctor"  quotes  and  praises  Southey  ;  but  not 
more  frequently,  nor  otherwise,  than  Southey  does  himself.  In 
short,  there  are  innumerable  points  of  agreement  between  them 
. — not  one  of  discrepancy  ;  and  there  are  not  two  distinct  authors, 
or  two  distinct  men,  living,  of  whom  this  can  be  said  :  either  the 
"  hands"  or  the  "  voice"  would  differ. 

We  add  one  circumstance  which  we  think  admits  of  no  re 
butter,  and  fixes  the  authorship,  beyond  skepticism,  upon  Sou 
they.  The  author  of  "  The  Doctor"  says,  (vol.  ii.t  p.  80,) 
"  Lord  Brooke,  who  is  called  the  most  thoughtful  of  poets,  by 
the  most  book-ful  of  Laureates."  Where  does  Southey  give 
Lord  Brooke  this  title  ?  In  a  letter  to  Sir  Egerton  Brydges  : 
" '  Lord  Brooke,'  who  is  the  most  thoughtful  of  all  poets."  (Auto 
biography  of  Sir  Egerton  Brydges,  vol.  ii.,  218.) 

A  tolerable  familiar  acquaintance  with  Southey's  writings 
enables  us  to  say,  with  entire  confidence,  that  he  applies  this 
phrase  to  our  English  Lycophron  no  where  else.  Now  "  The 
Doctor"  was  published  early  in  January,  1834 — the  Autobiog 
raphy  of  Sir  Egerton,  which  first  gave  the  letter  to  the  public, 
not  till  late  in  June,  1834  :  so  that  here  was  the  author  of 
"  The  Doctor"  quoting  a  composition  of  Southey's  a  good  half 
year  before  it  was  published.  "  If  that  be  not  proof,  speak  !" 
If  our  readers  have  not  been  able  to  penetrate  the  meaning 
of  the  words  on  the  last  page  but  one  of  "  The  Doctor,"  (vol.  ii.,) 
p.  219.,  we  have  the  satisfaction  of  giving  them  the  clue.  The 
words  are  composed  of  the  first  syllables  of  the  names  of  the 
author's  friends,  and  of  the  author  himself : 

Isdis,        -        -     Israel  D 'Israeli. 

Koso,       -         -     Robert  Southey. 

Heta,       -        -     Henry  Taylor. 

Samro,     -         -     Samuel  Rogers. 

Theho,     -        «•    Theodore  Hook. 

Heneco,   -         -     Henry  Nelson  Coleridge. 


.  28.J  VON  RAUMER  ON  AMERICA.  117 

Thojama,  -  -  Thomas  James  Matthias 

Johofre,  -  -  John  Hookham  Frere. 

Wala,       -  -  Walter  Landor. 

Yenarchly,  -  Venerable  Archdeacon  Lyell. 

Verevfrawra,  -  Very  Rev.  Francis  Wrangham. 


AMERICA  AND  THE  AMERICAN  PEOPLE.  By  FREDERICK  VON  RAUMER,  Pro 
fessor  of  History  in  the  University  of  Berlin,  &c.  Translated  from  the 
German. 

THE  Baron  Yon  Raumer  is  a  very  respectable  man  ;  a  most 
eminently  respectable  and  exemplary  person;  but  he  a  little 
exceeds  the  license  which  respectability  is  allowed  to  possess, 
of  being  pedantic,  formal,  and  commonplace.  From  what  we 
saw  of  him  personally,  and  from  what  we  knew  of  his  writings, 
we  had  expected  that  his  book  about  America  would  be  rather 
a  heavy  performance ;  but  we  were  not  prepared  for  any  such 
result  as  this.  The  Baron  has  gone  beyond  all  his  promises, 
and  outdone  the  anticipations  of  his  best  Meads.  We  had  not 
supposed  it  possible  for  any  man  to  possess  himself  of  so  rare 
an  assemblage  of  disqualifications  for  agreeable  writing,  of  such 
select  talents  for  heaviness,  such  acquired  capacities  for  com 
monplace,  such  extraordinary  powers  of  prosiness.  We  did 
not  before  believe  that,  in  any  one,  such  a  variety  of  abilities 
could  act  together  with  such  mutual  adaptation  and  absolute 
unity  of  effect,  for  the  production  of  one  definite  result, — that 
of  what  Burke  would  call  pure,  defecated,  dephlegmated  dul- 
ness.  There  is  learning,  observation,  study,  labor,  in  all  the  de 
tails  ;  and  only  stolidity  in  the  grand  total.  The  work  reminds 
us  of  nothing  so  much  as  some  of  those  huge  equations  which 
one  meets  in  the  higher  mathematics ;  where,  after  a  great  deal 
of  figuration  with  numbers  and  letters,  and  a  great  deal  of  plus 
and  minus,  and  cubing  and  differentiating,  the  whole  is  summed 
up  as  equal  to  zero.  There  is  depth  and  range  enough,  but  the 
informing  spirit  of  genius  and  vigor  moves  not  upon  the  face 
of  the  waters.  The  book  is  a  Run  of  Cutch, — myriads  of  par- 


118  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [JEvAv.  28. 


tides  of  fine  and  curious  ores  are  borne  along  on  a  copious 
stream,  to  form  at  the  end  only  an  enormous  mass  of  mud.  It 
is  surprising  to  us  that  a  man  can  touch  upon  so  many  subjects 
which  have  drawn  out  all  the  sense  and  passion  of  a  nation  for 
years  together,  and  been  illuminated  with  all  that  is  brilliant 
in  the  intelligence  of  a  vast  continent,  and  yet  contrive  to  say 
not  only  nothing  that  is  new,  (which  might  well  be  excused,) 
but  nothing  that  is  philosophical  —  nothing  that,  in  any  higher 
sense  than  mere  literality,  is  true,  nothing  that  is  striking,  no 
thing  that  is  valuable.  The  only  original  conception  which  we 
have  met  with  in  the  volume,  is  the  eulogy  of  President  Tyler, 
in  which,  with  a  certain  felicity  of  fearlessness,  the  writer  selects 
the  veto  of  the  Bank  bill,  as  the  prominent  topic  of  commenda 
tion.  The  only  original  facts  which  we  find,  consist  in  some 
statistics  of  spitting  :  "With  watch  in  hand,"  says  the  Professor, 
"  I  ascertained  that,  on  an  average,  in  the  space  of  one  minute, 
one  man  spit  five  times,  and  another,  (a  clergyman  too,)  eight." 
We  express  our  admiration  at  this  dignified  and  interesting 
spectacle  of  a  Professor  of  History  coming  a  thousand  miles 
with  a  choice  chronometer  in  hand  to  count  the  number  of  times 
that  our  native  blackguards  expectorate.  Seriously,  was  not 
the  Baron  afraid,  like  Coriolanus,  that 

"  Boys  with  spits,  and  girls  with  stones, 
Would  slay  him  in  the  puny  battle  ?" 

There  is  but  one  thing  in  which  we  are  not  satisfied  with  this 
report  ;  we  should  have  been  glad  to  have  had  a  tabular  state 
ment  of  the  number  of  separate  spitments,  clerical  and  lay,  from 
which  this  average  of  eight  to  five  in  favor  of  the  hierarchy  was 
deduced,  such  as  he  has  given  of  the  length  of  time  employed 
by  all  the  students  in  Harvard  College  in  going  through  their 
recitations.  The  Baron  himself,  it  must  be  confessed,  labors 
under  no  such  infirmity  as  these  subjects  of  his  watch  seem  to 
have  been  afflicted  with,  an  excess  of  humor. 

To  give  a  correct  account  of  this  work,  we  should  characterize 
it  as  that  of  a  democratic  German  De  Tocqueville  ;  without, 
however,  any  thing  of  democratic  energy,  any  thing  of  German 


JETAT.  28.]  VON  RAUMER  ON  AMERICA.  119 

originality,  or  any  thing  of  De  Tocqueville's  brilliance.  We 
are  struck  at  once  with  what  Coleridge  called  the  encyclopedic 
tendency  of  the  German  mind,  its  desire  to  embrace  a  totality 
of  view.  Like  our  "  ami  Seller,  il  commence  par  le  com 
mencement."  We  find  him,  in  the  first  paragraphs,  among  the 
remotest* geological  periods,  describing  the  probable  time  of  the 
upheaval  of  the  American  continent ;  we  are  then  carried 
through  a  course  of  geography  ;  and  next  through  a  series  of 
mineralogical  observations.  We  then  have  a  judicious  and 
rather  neat  abridgement  of  Grahame's  History,  running  through 
half  a  dozen  chapters  ;  then  an  account  of  the  political  and  legal 
constitutions  of  the  country,  which  is  merely  the  first  volume 
of  Kent's  Commentaries,  with  additions  out  of  the  American 
Almanac ;  and  then  a  series  of  discussions  on  Banks,  Tariffs, 
Cities,  Schools,  and  Religion,  as  vapid  and  worthless  as  last 
year's  port  entries,  or  weekly  lists  of  stocks.  This  range  of  dis 
cussion  belongs,  we  suppose,  to  what  the  cant  of  the  hour  calls 
the  German  many-sidedness.  We  are  content  that  a  treatise 
should  have  as  many  sides  as  its  author  chooses  to  give  it,  but 
we  insist,  for  the  sake  of  its  readers,  that  it  should  have  a  few 
points.  We  suspect  that  this  many-sidedness  is  merely  one  of 
those  delusions  which  prevail  for  a  time  because  nobody  under 
stands  their  signification  enough  to  expose  their  want  of  sense. 
It  seems  to  us  that  formal  and  physical  extension  of  the  field  of 
view  is  sometimes  confounded  with  expansion  of  intellectual  con 
ception,  and  a  widening  of  the  natural  horizon  mistaken  for  an 
increase  of  mental  light.  For  ourselves,  we  do  not  perceive 
what  connection  there  is  between  geological  upheavings  and 
social  ones  ;  nor  why  an  account  of  the  explosive  tendencies  of 
radicalism  should  be  ushered  in  with  a  preface  on  primeval  vol 
canoes.  There  is  a  long  chapter  on  Slavery,  which  is  as  formal 
as  an  ancient  sermon  and  as  trashy  as  a  modern  song.  There 
is  another  on  currency  and  credit,  in  which  the  author  shows 
that  he  has  never  comprehended  the  principle  on  which  bank 
ing  is  founded :  he  sneers  at  truths  which  are  as  settled  and 
certain  in  the  science  of  paper  credit,  as  the  laws  of  gravitation 
are  in  mechanics ;  and  utterly  confuses  historical  order  and  ac- 


120  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  28. 

curacy  in  his  account  of  the  affair  between  General  Jackson 
and  the  United  States  Bank,  misapprehending  motives,  mis 
taking  causes  for  effects,  and  putting  consequents  before  the  an 
tecedents.  Throughout,  a  certain  philosophical  character  is 
affected  by  assuming  a  position  of  indifference  between  contend 
ing  factions,  and  stating  the  views  of  both  without  inclining  to 
either.  There  are  certainly  some  cases,  in  which  opposite 
parties  represent  different  elements  of  the  same  truth,  and  are 
about  equally  right ;  both,  then,  are  to  be  appreciated,  and 
neither  to  be  condemned.  But  there  are  other  instances,  in 
which,  without  any  doubt  at  all,  one  side  is  entirely  right,  and  the 
other  side  is  entirely  wrong ;  and  for  a  man  to  hold  his  judgment 
in  equilibrio,  on  such  occasions,  as  this  author  clearly  does,  is 
merely  to  be  absurd  in  a  systematical  manner,  and  to  give  up 
the  approbation  of  men  of  sense  for  the  applause  of  pedants  and 
sciolists.  The  Baron's  chapters  suggest  no  new  topics,  and 
offer  nothing  fresh  upon  old  ones.  He  seems  to  write  even  in 
ignorance  of  the  progress  which  has  been  made  by  others  in  the 
philosophy  of  our  character  and  institutions,  so  that  his  move 
ment  is  effectually  retrograde.  The  distinction  between  Federal 
or  whig  liberty  and  democracy,  is  of  singular  nicety  and  interest, 
and  one  which  American  and  French  authors  have  made  some 
advance  in  developing  ;  but  the  present  author  totally  fails  to 
apprehend  it,  and  lauds  Washington,  Jefferson,  Adams,  and 
Jackson,  as  men  of  the  same  stamp,  differing  in  the  degree  of 
their  republican  feelings,  but  not  in  the  nature  of  their  political 
views.  The  observations  on  American  Art,  especially  those  on 
Greenough's  sublime  statue,  are  stupid  beyond  any  thing  we 
could  have  supposed  possible. 

The  truth  is,  intellect  is  a  department  of  the  Baron's  educa 
tion  which  has  been  neglected :  and  after  all  said  and  done,  a 
man  of  inferior  understanding  cannot  write  a  superior  book. 
The  Baron  is  a  person  of  many  kinds  of  knowledge,  but  the 
knowledge  of  the  measure  of  his  powers  is  not  among  them. 
In  these  pages  "America  and  the  American  People,"  are  (to  use 
the  quaint  language  of  Burton's  title  page)  "opened  and  cut 
up,"  geologically,  physiologically,  politically,  and  statistically, — 


28.]        THE  PROSE  WORKS  OF  JOHN  MILTOX.  121 

every  way,  in  short,  except  sensibly,  ably,  or  agreeably.  After 
reading  a  recent  History  on  a  great  American  subject,  we  con 
cluded  that  flippancy  was  the  worst  fault  of  a  historian  ;  but 
upon  finishing  Yon  Raumer,  we  are  compelled  to  admit  that 
dulness,  when  carried  to  such  an  extravagant  excess,  is  quite 
as  bad. 


THE  PROSE  WORKS  OF  JOHN  MILTON;  with  a  Biographical  Introduction.  By 
R.  W.  GRISWOLD. 

THE  mightiest  spirit,  probably,  that  ever  illustrated  in  litera 
ture  the  extent  of  human  capacity,  and  the  force  of  human  will, 
was  Milton.  In  regard  to  his  character  as  a  poet,  this  appears 
to  us  to  be  the  capital  consideration,  that  he  lived  in  an  unpo- 
etical  time.  Nations  have  their  ages,  like  individuals.  Homer 
in  the  old  world;  Dante  and  Petrarch  in  Italy;  in  England, 
Chaucer,  Shakspeare,  Spenser,  flourished  at  a  period  in  the 
national  life,  when  fancy  and  sentiment,  the  staple  of  poetry, 
were  still  predominant  over  pure  reason, — when  manners  were 
picturesque,  and  common  life  had  the  spirit  of  a  romance — when 
the  genial  infusion  of  new  feelings  into  old  institutions  was 
hourly  realizing  brilliant  effects, — above  all,  when  language, 
sensitive  and  intensely  vital,  responded  with  music  to  the  least 
skilful  touch.  But  for  a  man  to  rise  up,  as  Milton  did,  after 
the  era  of  Art  has  fairly  past — when  the  fine  enthusiasms  of 
national  youth  and  hope  have  been  checked  or  extinguished, 
and  a  critical  spirit  has  established  itself  in  every  department, — 
when  society  on  the  one  hand  is  frivolous,  and  on  the  other  is 
harsh,  and  stern,  and  dry- — when  contemporary  literature  ex 
hibits  only  the  weakness  of  inanity,  or  the  more  desperate 
weakness  of  extravagance,  and  when  language  has  lost  its 
aesthetic  vigor ; — for  a  man  at  such  a  time,  to  start  aside  from 
the  mass,  and  laboriously  educating  himself  into  the  originality 
and  power  of  an  early  epoch,  to  develop  from  the  depths  of 
his  own  strenuous  and  teeming  mind,  a  literary  work  of  un- 
rivalable  magnificence  and  grandeur, — stamped  with  the  force 
11 


122  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [JEiAT.  28. 

and  freshness  of  a  remote  antiquity' — against  all  models,  and 
beyond  all  imitation,. — this  appears  to  us  to  be  a  thing  without 
a  parallel,  and  to  partake  of  the  character  of  a  prodigy.  The 
colossal  images  of  the  Alps  are  natural  at  sunrise  :  to  produce 
them  at  mid-day  would  be  the  work  of  magic. 

But  if  Milton,  in  his  poetry,  drew  back  in  moody  loneliness 
behind  his  contemporaries,  in  his  philosophical  writings  he 
strides  on  as  far  before  them.  Indeed,  after  centuries  of  event 
ful  experience,  and  of  mental  discipline,  it  is  only  now  that  the 
general  mind  may  be  said  to  have  been  brought  up  to  that  level 
of  freedom  and  fearlessness,  from  which  Milton's  speculations 
begin  :  it  is  only  at  this  day  that  the  world  is  able  to  read  Milton. 
There  are  few  treatises  on  political  or  social  questions,  a  century 
and  a  half  old,  which  would  bear  to  be  re-pririted  at  this  time. 
But  Milton  is  still  above  us,  though  no  longer  beyond  us.  What 
strikes  us  when  we  turn  to  Paradise  Lost,  is  the  immensity  of 
imaginative  conception  which  we  there  meet  with :  and  when 
we  open  any  one  of  the  larger  treatises  in  this  collection,  we  are 
equally  caught  by  the  elevation  and  extent  of  moral  view  which 
are  displayed.  We  are  not  compelled  to  work  through  laborious 
processes  in  the  close  atmosphere  of  metaphysical  subtlety ;  we 
are  taken  up  at  once  upon  a  lofty  and  commanding  platform, 
bright  and  breezy,  where  the  light  of  heaven  shines  upon  us, 
and  the  divisions  of  the  earth  are  marked  out  as  on  a  map,  be 
neath  our  feet.  The  blaze  of  imagination  discloses  the  recesses 
of  Truth,  and  Inspiration  does  the  work  of  analysis.  The  cir 
cuitous  caution  and  timid  advance  of  the  old  strategy  is  rejected 
by  this  Napoleon  of  morals ;  and  the  Sierras  of  falsehood  are 
carried  by  a  charge. 

Republican  in  all  the  constitution  of  his  character — self- 
formed  and  self-reliant — hardy,  conscientious  and  uncorrupt, — 
rejecting  the  control  of  others  only  that  he  might  the  more  per 
fectly  control  himself, — Milton  realized  by  meditation  that  sub 
limity  of  life  which  in  other  cases  only  a  great  course  of  action 
has  inspired  ;  and  we  believe  that  the  most  effective  substitute  for 
the  elevating  circumstances  and  scenes  by  which  the  august 


MTA.T.  28.]        THE  PROSE  WORKS  OF  JOHN  MILTON.  123 

characters  of  our  revolution  were  produced,  might  be  found  in 
a  right  use  of  the  prose  works  of  Milton. 

Undoubtedly  in  many  of  Milton's  papers  we  may  find  the  true 
principles  of  English  liberty,  which  are  the  origin  of  American 
Independence,  and  the  safeguards  of  American  society.  There 
never  has  been  any  genuine  freedom  in  the  world,  except  that 
which  has  been  developed  by  the  constitutions  of  modern  Europe, 
of  which  that  of  England  has  been  agreed  to  be  the  best  con 
trived  and  the  most  advanced ;  and  it  is  only  in  so  far  as  we 
maintain  and  enforce  in  this  country  the  notion  of  constitutional 
principles  and  constitutional  rights,  that  we  can  hope  to  keep 
alive  any  liberty  here.  We  do  not  mean  those  edicts  in  limita 
tion  of  political  power  which  are  contained  in  the  written  "con 
stitutions"  of  the  United  States,  and  the  several  States,  and 
which,  in  that  form,  derive  their  obligation  from  the  consent 
and  authority  of  the  people  who  have  established  them  in  con 
ventions.  We  refer  to  those  fundamental,  inherent  and  fixed 
principles  upon  which  the  system  of  Anglo- Saxon  liberty  is 
organized,  and  in  which  it  subsists  ;  rational,  not  conventional ; 
existing  in  nature,  and  therefore  not  capable  of  being  extin 
guished  by  agreement  or  force  ;  indestructible  ;  the  true  rights 
of  man  in  political  society;  any  wilful  departure  from  which 
justifies,  even  politically,  rebellion  and  revolution.  One  of  these 
principles,  for  example,  is  that  which  recognizes  a  distinction 
between  a  tax  law,  and  every  other  kind  of  law,  founded  upon 
the  difference  between  taking  property  and  regulating  conduct ; 
by  which  no  law  may  be  made  which  imposes  a  tax  unequally, 
or  without  consent  and  without  compensation.  This  is  no 
formal,  technical  rule,  which  is  satisfied  by  a  literal  compliance 
with  it ;  it  is  a  great  essential  principle  of  reason,  justice,  and 
practical  freedom ;  founded  in  the  temper  of  modern  society, 
and  traditionary  in  English  politics  ;  and  when  any  act  of  legis 
lation  emanating  either  from  the  omnipotence 'of  Parliament  or 
the  sovereignty  of  the  people,  violates  this  maxim,  in  its  spirit 
and  tendency,  it  is,  in  the  just  meaning  of  the  term,  unconstitu 
tional;  and  if  it  be  persisted  in  without  hope  of  alleviation,  it 
becomes  the  duty  of  men,  as  citizens,  and  as  subjects  of  the  law, 


124  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  28. 

to  rebel.  Lord  Coke  maintained  the  noble  doctrine  that  "An 
Act  of  Parliament  against  a  common  right  is  void,"  but  in 
England  it  is  now  settled  that  Parliament  in  its  legislative 
capacity  judges  of  its  own  jurisdiction,  and  the  judiciary  has 
only  power  to  interpret  statutes,  and  not  to  set  them  aside.  In 
this  country,  however,  we  suppose  it  to  be  a  general  principle 
that  the  courts  are  to  judge  of  the  jurisdiction  of  the  legisla 
tures,  as  well  in  respect  to  those  unwritten  constitutional  prin 
ciples  which  exist  of  "common  right,"  as  in  regard  to  those 
legal  limitations  which  are  prescribed  in  the  written  constitutions, 
and  that  when  an  Act  is  passed  which,  in  a  sound  political  point 
of  view,  is  in  contravention  of  the  spirit  of  constitutional  privi 
leges  and  constitutional  protection,  as  ascertained  by  the  phi 
losophy  of  modern  political  science,  it  becomes  the  right  and 
duty  of  the  judges  to  pronounce  it  void.  The  study  of  this 
subject  becomes  therefore  of  the  first  consequence  to  lawyers 
and  statesmen,  and  in  some  of  Milton's  writings  it  is  nobly 
taught.  We  are  much  obliged  to  Mr.  Griswold  for  his  ser 
vices  in  putting  us  in  possession  of  these  handsome  and  con 
venient  books.  His  pen  possesses  considerable  felicity  ;  and  on 
this  occasion  he  has  written  with  unusual  spirit. 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE  REIGN  OF  KING  GEORGE  THE  THIRD.   By  HORACE  WALPOLE. 
2  vols.     Philadelphia. 

LITERATURE  and  history  seem  destined  at  present  to  be  over 
run  with  a  flood  of  Walpoleism.  Since  we  have  holden  our 
present  office  of  usher  of  the  Black  Rod  to  the  sovereign  Public, 
this,  we  believe,  is  something  like  the  twelfth  volume  to  which 
we  have  had  the  pleasure  to  invite  attention.  For  a  man  who 
wrote  nothing  larger  than  a  note  or  a  tract,  and  nothing  more 
dignified  than  a  squib  or  a  gossipping  letter,  and  who  had  been 
in  hi?  grave  twenty  years  when  the  first  of  this  line  of  volumes 
took  up  its  march,  this,  we  think,  will  do  very  well.  Horace 
Walpole  died  in  the  winter  of  '96-97  ;  and  five  stately  quarto 


MTJLT.  28.]  HORACE  WALPOLE.  125 

volumes,  published  within  a  year  or  two  of  that  event,  seemed 
to  form  "monumental  pomp"  enough  for  one  who  denied  and 
deprecated  the  character  and  name  of  a  literary  man.  As  for 
those  volumes  themselves,  they  are  books  of  scraps :  and  we 
may  describe  the  whole  work  in  the  terms  in  which  "Walpole 
himself  described  the  front  of  the  old  Versailles,  as  "  a  lumber 
of  littleness."  It  soon  appeared,  however,  that  this  affluent 
noble,  much  of  his  literary  wealth  as  he  had  given  to  the  public 
in  his  lifetime,  had  still  an  immense  estate  left,  which,  like  Mr. 
Thelusson,  he  had  entailed  upon  a  remote  posterity,  to  be  enjoyed 
only  after  a  life  or  lives  in  being,  and  some  one-and-twenty 
years  afterwards.  About  1820,  a  correspondence  with  the 
lively  George  Montague  was  published  :  then  letters  to  Lord 
Hertford,  and  to  Dr.  Zouch  :  then  appeared  a  series  of  three 
volumes  of  epistles  to  Sir  Horace  Mann,  and  soon  after  another 
series  of  four  to  the  same  dull  and  trifling  person ;  to  say 
nothing  of  Ana,  Reminiscences,  &c.  This  of  which  we  now 
have  the  second  portion,  is  in  the  English  impression,  a  four 
volume  work :  and  there  is  a  talk  of  other  mysterious  piles  of 
manuscripts, — of  "Bag  A,"  "Bundle  B,"  and  Cs  and  Ds,  black 
with  gouty  hieroglyphics,  and  of  unknown  contents — which  lead 
us  to  suppose  that  we  see  but  the  beginning  of  the  thing.  Really, 
if  it  were  not  for  Walpole's  frequent  and  serious  protestations, 
posterity  might  be  in  danger  of  mistaking  this  man  for  an  author. 
Jf  it  should  take  him  for  a  person  morbidly  eager  for  literary 
distinction,  it  would  probably  make  no  mistake  at  all.  Wanting 
courage  to  attempt,  as  much  as  strength  to  accomplish,  any 
great  work,  Walpole  loved  "to  mumble  of  the  game  he  dared 
not  bite ;"  and  inditing  prefaces,  tales,  biographical  notes,  and 
other  small  performances,  writing  with  infinite  care  those  things 
which  others  wrote  negligently,  he  labored  to  have  it  thought 
that  he  wanted  nothing  but  the  inclination,  to  beat  all  the 
Johnsons,  Goldsmiths,  and  Burkes  of  the  time,  at  their  own 
weapons.  Gilly  Williams  read  his  character  with  accuracy: 
"  monstrari  digito,"  says  that  shrewd  and  witty  person,  in  a  letter 
printed  by  Mr.  Jesse,  "  is  the  end  and  object  of  all  he  does  :  for 
this,  he  wrote,  he  built,  he  planted :  to  this  we  owe  his  Lord 
11* 


126  LITERACY  CRITICISMS.  [JErAT.  28. 

Herbert,  and  in  future  we  shall  owe  many  entertaining  things." 
So  indeed  it  has  proved ;  for  though  the  dicier  Hie  est,  may  be 
less  than  even  an  empty  sound  to  the  cold  ear  of  Death,  yet  a 
feeling  kindred  to  it  has  been  the  origin  of  these  posthumous 
volumes.  Knowing  that  gossip  may  acquire  from  time  an  in 
terest  not  due  to  its  worth,  and  thinking  that  a  vast  number  of 
small  works  might  be  deemed  equivalent  to  one  great  one,  he 
devoted  many  hours  of  every  day  of  his  life,  to  perpetuating  the 
anecdotes  and  incidents  of  the  hour,  in  letters,  memoirs  and 
reminiscences.  Neither  gaiety  nor  the  gout — neither  the  dissi 
pation  and  whirl  of  youth,  nor  the  solitude  and  chalk-stones  of 
old  age — could  stay  the  restless  diligence  of  a  pen,  which  thus 
wrote  more  than  almost  any  professed  author  of  the  times ; 
until  after  about  eighty  years  of  action  the  "  unwearied  mill  that 
turned  ten  thousand  letters,"  at  last  stood  still.  This  method 
of  remote  posthumous  publication,  seems  to  be  one  of  the  tricks 
of  an  actor  who  did  nothing  naturally,  but  all  for  notoriety. 

Walpole  was,  undoubtedly,  a  man  of  pretty  parts  :  his  wit, 
though  not  solid,  strong,  nor  true,  was  delicate  and  sparkling  : 
his  turns  of  thought  are  lively  and  neat :  he  described  manners 
with  a  success  which  showed  the  true  level  of  his  genius  :  he 
drew  characters  upon  a  happy  system,  which  by  abusing  every 
body,  painted  many  correctly.  If  any  one  is  inclined  to  refine 
his  taste  or  point  his  style  by  a  close  study  of  Walpole's  letters 
on  society,  we  can  offer  no  objection :  but  we  make  a  protest 
against  his  books  being  regarded  either  as  History,  or  as  ma 
terials  for  the  formation  of  the  historical  judgments  of  the  age. 
He  was  the  unfittest  person  of  that  century  for  the  difficult  and 
responsible  duties  of  an  annalist.  He  had  not  the  least  regard 
for  truth  ;  he  had  no  judgment ;  was  as  inquisitive,  as  credulous 
and  as  inaccurate  as  a  lady's  maid :  and  by  the  measure  of  his 
understanding  was  as  incapable  of  appreciating  what  was  great, 
as  by  the  height  of  his  moral  sensibilities  he  was  unwilling  to 
believe  or  respect  what  was  worthy.  His  vanity  made  him 
jealous  of  everybody ;  and  his  ill-success  inclined  him  to  ma 
lignity.  He  inherited  all  his  father's  animosities,  and  as  to  his 
contemporaries,  wrote  with  the  "  recentibus  odiis"  fresh  about 


28.]  HORACE  WALPOLE.  127 

him.  As  to  his  own  career,  the  newness  of  his  family  made 
him  jealous  of  all  the  great  lords ;  his  extreme  anxiety  to  shine 
in  affairs,  and  incapacity  to  do  it,  made  him  hate  all  the  great 
statesmen  and  orators ;  his  efforts  as  an  author  caused  him  to 
look  with  scornful  eyes  on  all  real  literary  merit :  and  thus, 
about  himself  and  the  men  of  his  own  time,  he  wrote  with  little 
to  guide  his  pen,  save  the  "  ira  et  studio,"  which  distort  the  pic 
ture  that  they  animate,  and  discolor  as  much  as  they  warm  it. 
The  present  volume  is  but  a  series  of  outrageous  libels :  the 
wildest  and  most  reckless  charges  are  flung  around  on  the  right 
hand  and  the  left ;  infamous  suggestions,  without  the  smallest 
probability,  made  against  the  most  excellent  persons  of  the  age : 
unbounded  contempt  thrown  out  against  the  wisest  and  ablest 
writers  of  the  country,  men  who  have  since  taken  their  rank 
among  the  great  heroes  of  fame.  The  absurdity  of  such  an 
attempt  to  degrade,  belittle  and  blacken  everybody  and  every 
thing,  and  the  wickedness  of  it,  can  be  equalled  only  by  the 
cowardly  and  cunning  baseness  of  reserving  the  publication  of 
the  trash,  until  all  who  possessed  a  direct  knowledge  of  the  facts 
perverted  or  an  immediate  interest  in  the  persons  maligned,  are 
dead,  and  there  no  longer  remains  ability  or  disposition  to  con 
fute  the  mass  of  calumny.  But  the  reputations  of  the  great  are 
the  heritage  of  the  race,  and  honesty  and  truth  are  the  concern 
of  all  men  ;  and  we  venture  a  confident  prophecy,  that  the  high 
repute  which  Walpole  justly  acquired  for  wit  and  elegance, 
from  the  publication  of  his  letters,  is  destined  to  be  quite  shaken 
by  the  discredit  which  the  untruth  and  unfairness  of  his  memoirs 
is  certain  to  bring  upon  him.  The  fate  of  Archdeacon  Coxe, 
is  a  warning  to  all  future  writers  to  place  no  reliance  on  Wai- 
pole's  most  confident  statements  about  the  private  history  of 
the  court ;  and  the  opinions  of  a  whole  nation  are  a  sufficient 
confutation  of  his  views  of  men  and  their  motives. 

Of  the  eminent  men  under  the  Hanover  dynasty,  there  are 
few  whose  reputation  has  increased  more  steadily,  with  the  lapse 
of  time,  than  Lord  Hardwicke's :  but  Walpole  writes  of  him 
thus :  "  The  gloomy  and  revengeful  temper  of  Hardwicke  waited 
for  an  opportunity  of  repaying  the  disgrace  Pitt  had  inflicted 


128  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^ETAT.  28. 

on  their  cabal.  The  disgrace  of  his  country  was  meditated,  at 
least  effected  by  Lord  llardwicke,  as  revenge  on  Mr.  Pitt." 
(ii.,  p.  256.)  Lord  Mansfield's  character  had  probably  many 
weaknesses,  and  some  blemishes ;  but  what  in  his  career  could 
justify  such  frantic  outrages  on  common  decency  and  common 
sense  as  this  ?  "  Lord  Mansfield  was  by  birth,  education, 
principle,  cowardice,  and  revenge  for  the  public  odium,  a 
bigot  to  tyranny.  He  would  have  sacrificed  the  universe, 
and  everything  but  his  personal  safety,  to  overturn  the  con 
stitution  and  freedom  of  England."  (ii.,  p.  232.)  Lord  Chatham 
figures  here  as  a  ridiculous  compound  of  arrogance,  corruption 
and  insanity; — Wedderburne,  as  "that  abandoned  man,"  who 
had  "no  superior  in  Westminster  Hall  for  want  of  principles." 
(ii.,  p.  300.)  To  insult  Burke,  the  ten-times  confuted  lie  of  his 
having  been  "born  a  papist"  is  gravely  affirmed  (ii.,  p.  189) ;  and 
when  Burke  printed  his  splendid  "  Thoughts  on  the  present 
Discontents,"  we  are  told  that  "Mrs.  Macauley,  whose  princi 
ples  were  more  sound  and  more  fixed  than  Burke's,  and  whose 
reasoning  was  more  simple  and  more  exact,  published  a  short 
tract  in  answer."  (ii.,  p.  251.)  The  extravagant  absurdity  of  this 
is  exceeded  only  by  the  character  which  he  gives  of  Dr.  John 
son — a  specimen  of  candor,  truth  and  dignified  writing,  with 
which  we  close  our  extracts.  "  With  a  lumber  of  learning  and 
some  strong  parts,  Johnson  was  an  odious  and  mean  character. 
By  principle  a  Jacobite,  arrogant,  self-sufficient,  and  overbearing 
by  nature,  ungrateful  through  pride,  and  of  feminine  bigotry, 
he  had  prostituted  his  pen  to  party  even  in  a  dictionary,  and 
had  afterwards,  for  a  pension,  contradicted  his  own  definitions. 
His  manners  were  sordid,  supercilious  and  brutal,  his  style 
ridiculously  bombastic  and  vicious ;  and,  in  a  word,  with  all 
the  pedantry,  he  had  all  the  gigantic  littleness  of  a  country 
schoolmaster."  (ii.,  2,  p.  323.) 


.  28.]    LETTERS  OF  THE  EARL  OF  CHESTERFIELD.  129 

THE  LETTERS  OF  THE  EARL  OF  CHESTERFIELD,  including  numerous  Letters 
now  first  published  from  the  Original  Manuscripts.  Edited  with  Notes  by 
Lord  MAHON.  In  four  vols.  London,  Bentley,  1845. 

No  sort  of  justice  has  been  done  by  critics  and  historians  to 
the  great  sense,  high  character,  and  noble  accomplishments  of 
the  Earl  of  Chesterfield.  In  action,  England,  fertile  of  able 
politicians,  never  produced  a  more  consummate  statesman.  As 
Lord-Lieutenant  of  Ireland,  he  carried  the  government  in  safety 
over  the  crisis  of  1745;  his  firmness  maintaining  order,  and  his 
justice  inspiring  confidence,  in  a  nation  where  the  elements  of 
discontent  were  more  abounding  and  more  violent  than  in  the 
neighboring  kingdom  where  the  explosion  actually  took  place. 
His  policy  has  since  been  often  appealed  to  by  rival  parties  who 
agreed  in  nothing  but  their  admiration  of  him ;  and  "his  name, 
I  am  assured,"  says  Lord  Mahon,  "lives  in  the  honored  remem 
brance  of  the  Irish  people,  as,  perhaps,  next  to  Ormond,  the  best 
and  worthiest  in  their  long  vice-regal  line."  In  letters,  Lord 
Chesterfield  exhibited  qualities  rare  in  kind,  still  rarer  in  their  com 
bination  ; — a  severe  sagacity  that  nothing  eluded,  a  rectitude  of 
judgment  that  nothing  could  impose  on,  joined  to  a  loftiness  of 
spirit,  a  gaiety  of  temper,  and  a  sensibility  to  all  the  charms  of 
grace  and  beauty,  that  make  him  at  once  an  instructor  and  a 
companion.  He  possessed  singular  delicacy  of  observation, 
which,  however,  never  became  entangled  in  its  own  refinements. 
The  consciousness  of  talents  to  shine  without  a  rival,  in  politics 
and  fashion,  never  led  him  to  overvalue  those  pursuits,  or  follow 
them  beyond  the  dictates  of  respectability,  propriety,  or  pru 
dence.  He  had  a  range  of  intelligence  which  enabled  him  to  see 
things  in  the  light  in  which  others  saw  them,  without  losing  the 
truth  of  his  own  perceptions,  and  a  versatility  of  powers  to  play  to 
their  views  without  departing  from  his  own  moral  standards. 
Few  men  formed  juster  estimates  of  the  value  of  things.  Com 
mon  sense  was  his  most  eminent  quality.  Dr.  Franklin  himself 
was  scarcely  more  rigorously  practical  in  the  tone  of  his  judg 
ments.  Yet  Chesterfield  had  the  yet  more  uncommon  ability 
to  appreciate  the  things  which  he  despised,  to  allow  for  influ- 


130  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [>£TAT.  28. 

ences  which  he  heartily  condemned,  and  to  accommodate  himself 
temporarily  to  establishments  which  he  constantly  and  avowedly 
labored  to  overthrow.  This  fine  discrimination  between  truth 
and  convenience,  between  permanent  ends  and  occasional  means, 
which  his  understanding  took  and  his  self-control  maintained, 
permitted  him  to  be  politic  without  impairing  his  virtue,  and  to 
deal  with  trifles  without  ever  lowering  his  dignity.  Familiar 
with  the  homeliest  and  most  solid  parts  of  prudential  ethics,  he 
was  an  unapproached  master  in  all  that  concerns  the  higher  and 
more  refined  applications  of  it.  His  taste  was  wonderfully 
sound ;  and  his  style,  which  commonly  is  the  image  of  taste, 
though  it  was  refined  and  correct,  was  perfectly  simple,  natural, 
and  genuine ;  and  wholly  free  from  quaintness,  affectation,  and 
fastidiousness.  Rarely  has  life  been  looked  at  with  a  more  keen 
and  distinguishing  eye,  or  the  results  of  moral  scrutiny  been  fixed 
in  colors  more  brilliant  and  true.  He  knew  how  to  reconcile 
and  unite  with  manliness  and  solidity,  those  refinements  of  sen 
timent  and  that  delicacy  of  feeling,  which  are  usually  to  be  found 
only  among  the  frivolous  or  immoral ;  but  which  are  so  delight 
ful  and  admirable  as  almost  to  make  frivolity  enjoyable  and  vice 
itself  endurable. 

It  is  this  thoroughly  practical  turn  of  Lord  Chesterfield's  cha 
racter  which  has  given  rise  to  the  popular  opinion  that  he  professed 
a  system  of  loose  and  accommodating  morals.  We  have  read  his 
correspondence,  in  one  form  or  other,  something  like  twenty 
times ;  and  unless  the  impressions  of  a  life-long  familiarity  are 
at  fault,  this  popular  opinion  is  a  mistaken  one.  But  the  error 
is  easily  explained.  Men  of  extreme  common  sense,  who  take 
up  the  pen,  not  to  breathe  their  fancies  in  an  airy  chase  of  fine 
and  flimsy  sentiments,  but  to  effect  some  actual  result  of  convic 
tion  or  conduct — such  men  as  Franklin,  Paley,  Chesterfield — 
always  understate  their  case  and  their  argument,  as  much  as 
the  safety  of  their  position  will  admit  of :  they  lay  the  line  of 
their  requisitions  as  low  as  possible,  and  give,  not  the  highest, 
best,  or  strongest  reason  for  its  adoption,  but  the  simplest,  most 
direct  and  least  questionable  one  :  they  endeavor  to  identify  the 
principle  they  are  contending  for,  with  some  familiar  and  ad- 


.  28.]     LETTERS  OF  THE  EARL  OF  CHESTERFIELD.  131 

mitted  truth  of  daily  experience,  and  to  associate  the  acceptance 
of  it  with  some  certain,  palpable,  material  interest  of  the  reader. 
In  such  cases,  if  we  mistake  for  his  conception  of  the  abstract 
truth  and  right,  what  the  author  has  put  forward  with  a  view 
only  to  practicability,  or  confound  the  motive  which  urged  the 
writer  with  the  reason  which  he  has  given  to  the  reader,  we 
make  a  great  error.  Thus  Franklin,  when  he  would  persuade 
to  early  rising,  appeals  to  the  saving  of  coin  that  will  be  effected 
by  using  sunlight  instead  of  lamplight :  not  that  he  was  insen 
sible  to  the  romantic  attractions  of  the  subject,  the  cheering  and 
exalting  influences  of  the  day-spring  hour, — "the  charm  of  early 
birds,"  and  all  the  inspirations  of  the  dawn — for  his  writings  show 
that  he  was  finely  sensitive  to  all  such  suggestions  ;  but  that  he 
wished  to  rest  his  plea  upon  the  lowest  attainable  ground, — a 
ground  absolutely  certain  and  unassailable.  So  it  was  with 
Paley  : — finding  that  a  spirit  of  critical  and  utilitarian  philoso 
phy  was  come  up,  which  invalidated  the  logic  and  impeached 
the  first  principles  of  former  theologians  as  much  as  it  opposed 
the  end  which  those  principles  and  logic  were  employed  to 
establish,  he  determined  to  take  that  enemy  in  the  rear,  and  to 
occupy  its  own  firmest  and  most  favorite  ground.  He  therefore 
proceeded  to  prove  that  morality  is,  upon  the  whole,  a  very  con 
venient  thing;  that,  extravagant  as  society  is,  in  its  general 
statement,  it  is  quite  as  useful  as  any  thing  else  that  we  set  up 
in  its  stead  ;  and  that  the  divinity  of  the  Saviour  and  the  inspi 
ration  of  the  Evangelists,  absurd  as  they  may  be,  carry  fewer 
difficulties  with  them,  after  all,  than  any  other  theory  that  you 
can  propose.  This  admirably  sensible  and  sagacious  way  of 
dealing  with  the  subject  has  conciliated  and  attracted  as  many 
cold  hearts  out  of  the  church  as  it  has  offended  hot  heads  within 
it,  and  hitherto  has  answered  the  zealots  only  by  confuting  the 
infidels.  Chesterfield,  substantially,  was  of  the  same  stamp  and 
temper  as  these  men.  Take  an  extreme  case, — the  most  difficult 
for  our  argument  in  the  whole  of  his  book.  He  gives  his  son 
leave  to  have  an  intrigue  with  any  woman  of  high  fashion  that 
he  takes  a  fancy  to  ;  nay,  he  rather  advises  him  to  it.  This  is 
certainly  very  bad  indeed ;  but,  before  we  throw  the  book  into 


132  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  28. 

the  fire,  let  us  look  at  the  thing  a  moment.  The  Earl  of  Chester 
field  wished  to  accomplish  a  certain  practical  improvement  in 
the  character  and  conduct  of  his  son.  The  young  English,  with 
whom  his  residence,  his  years,  his  pursuits,  placed  him  in  asso 
ciation,  were  low  and  vicious  in  their  habits  and  tastes.  By 
persuasions,  by  entreaties,  by  commands,  by  threats, — by  serious 
arguments  and  sportive  raillery — he  strives,  without  cessation,  to 
keep  this  child  from  adopting  their  disgraceful  style  of  life.  In 
deciding  on  the  means  of  effecting  this  result,  we  may  imagine 
the  Earl  to  debate  somewhat  thus  with  himself:  "If  I  draw  the 
bow  too  far,  it  infallibly  breaks  :  if  I  insist  on  a  course  against 
which  the  spirit  and  passions  of  youth  rebel,  I  destroy  my  own 
influence  with  the  boy,  and  do  not  accomplish  my  purpose  :  if  I 
let  him  see  that  I  am  not  opposed  to  any  species  of  his  enjoy 
ments,  I  gain  his  confidence  and  will  be  able  gradually  to  mould 
him.  It  is  a  case  for  compromise  :  if  he  passes  the  evening  with 
a  lady  of  ton,  he  loses  his  virtue,  it  is  true ;  but  if  I  do  not  send 
him  to  such  a  woman,  he  will  certainly  go  himself  to  one  of  a 
lower  sort,  where,  besides  his  virtue,  he  will  lose  his  character 
and  impair  his  manners  to  boot."  The  whole  affair  thus  re 
duces  itself  to  a  plain  question  in  common  arithmetic ;  the  woman 
of  fashion  carries  the  day,  or  the  night,  by  all  the  difference  of 
manners  and  character;  and  the  same  despatch  which  carries  out 
an  absolute  prohibition  to  the  youth  from  "  s'encanaillant"  with 
the  creatures  of  the  opera  and  ballet,  conveys  a  permission  to 
break  the  seventh  commandment  with  the  gay  and  witty  Madam 
So-and-so.  Such  is  our  impression  of  Chesterfield's  system  ; 
and  when  we  find  him  inviting  his  son  to  turn  over  the  classics 
in  the  morning,  and  la  petite  Slot  in  the  evening,  we  see  in  that, 
not  the  laxity  of  a  man  of  the  world,  careless  of  moral  distinc 
tions,  but  the  anxious  solicitude  of  a  parent,  who,  fearing  the 
utter  ruin  of  his  son,  consents  to  give  up  a  part,  rather  than  risk 
the  loss  of  all.  That  Chesterfield  recognized  the  principles  of 
morality,  and  felt  their  weight  as  much  as  any  of  the  Sorbonne, 
it  is  scarcely  possible  for  any  candid  reader  of  the  letters  to 
doubt :  his  mistake  lay  in  the  means  of  attaining  an  unquestioned 
end ;  he  erred  in  finessing  in  a  matter  where  uncompromising 


28.]    LETTERS  OF  THE  EARL  OF  CHESTERFIELD.  133 

thoroughness  alone  will  do.  For  our  own  part,  we  will  engage 
that  if  ten  readers  will  go  through  these  volumes,  remembering 
that  Chesterfield  was  not  writing  dissertations  on  morals,  but 
was  managing  a  practical  task,  and  will  compare,  not  their 
principles,  sentiments,  or  intentions,  but  their  actual  past  moral 
practice,  with  his  practical  standard,  nine  of  the  ten  will  find 
that  his  system  is  above  theirs.  As  to  the  undecalogued  part 
of  morality,  his  teachings  are  beyond  any  man's  criticism.  In 
all  that  concerns  decency,  decorum,  true  dignity,  genuine  pro 
priety,  better  instruction  can  nowhere  be  found  ;  and  we  are 
disposed  to  think  that  those  qualities  bring  virtue  with  them,  in 
their  midst,  so  that  he  that  seeks  for  them  will  find  their  queen. 
In  justice,  also,  to  the  character  of  Chesterfield,  it  should  be 
recollected  that  he  did  not  undertake  the  whole  education  of  his 
son,  but  having  put  him  into  the  hands  of  an  exemplary  clergy 
man  of  the  Church,  and  written  to  him  once  a  week  to  obey 
every  thing  that  that  gentleman  told  him,  he  felt  himself  at 
liberty  to  confine  his  own  efforts  to  those  outward  and  lighter 
matters  in  which  alone  the  youth  was  deficient.  We  should  be 
glad  to  enter  more  at  large  into  the  display  of  a  mind  and  cha 
racter  in  which  we  have  long  felt  a  peculiar  interest,  and  which 
we  cordially  esteem  and  admire ;  but  our  limits  are  already  ex 
ceeded. 

We  suppose  the  work  will  soon  be  printed  in  this  country, 
and  we  trust  that  whatever  publisher  undertakes  to  apparel  and 
introduce  the  Earl,  will  suffer  him  to  appear  like  a  gentleman. 
We  express  in  advance  our  disapprobation  of  the  unworthy  style 
in  which  the  respectability  of  books  is  degraded  by  the  opera 
tions  of  more  than  one  American  publisher.  Literature  itself 
is  insulted  and  injured,  when  it  becomes  a  reproach  to  a  gentle 
man  or  lady  to  have  handled  the  vulgar  pamphlets  in  which  the 
finest  works  have  been  given  to  the  world.  Let  then  the 
Harpers,  or  whoever  else  reprints  these  volumes,  take  this  occa 
sion  to  solve  the  insoluble  problem  of  the  modern  press,  in  uniting, 
if  they  must  reduce  the  size,  compression  of  form  with  distinct 
ness  and  elegance,  and  in  sparing  the  purse  without  increasing 
the  expense  of  eyesight.  They  will  be  entitled  to  better  praise 
12 


134  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  28. 

than  any  which  they  have  yet  received,  if  they  will  inaugurate 
an  era  in  popular  printing,  in  which  cheapness  shall  be  no  longer 
synonymous  with  vileness,  nor  those  works  which  are  addressed 
to  the  taste  and  are  intended  to  delight  the  most  refined  and 
sensitive  part  of  our  being,  be  the  least  reputable  part  of  the 
furniture  of  our  drawing-rooms. 


SPENCE'S  "ANECDOTES  OF  BOOKS  AND  MEN." 

THIS  book,  of  which  an  American  reprint  is  said  to  be  con 
templated  by  a  Philadelphia  publisher,  is  one  of  the  most  curious 
and  entertaining  volumes  in  our  language,  and  it  is  one  of  the 
least  known.  It  is  a  sizeable  octavo,  consisting  of  remarks 
made  to  Mr.  Spence  in  conversation  by  Pope,  Bolingbroke, 
Warburton,  Le  Sage,  Lady  Montague,  and  many  other  distin 
guished  persons.  It  is  the  "Boswell"  of  the  era  of  the  two 
first  Georges.  The  fate  of  this  extraordinary  collection  is  one 
of  the  most  singular  in  literary  history.  In  consequence  of  the 
unwillingness  of  the  Duke  of  Newcastle  to  have  it  published,  it 
remained  in  manuscript  for  about  sixty  years  after  the  author's 
death.  It  was  referred  to  by  Warton  for  his  Essay  on  Pope ; 
Malone  made  use  of  it  for  his  edition  of  Dryden ;  and  it  was 
placed  at  Dr.  Johnson's  disposal  for  his  Lives  of  the  Poets,  who 
thought  "the  communication  of  it  a  favor  worthy  of  public  ac 
knowledgment."  After  exciting  infinite  curiosity  among  literary 
persons  for  more  than  half  a  century,  two  editions  from  different 
manuscripts  were  published  in  the  year  1820,  and  both  may  be 
said  to  have  fallen  still-born  from  the  press.  Curiosity  seems 
to  have  been  exhausted  by  protracted  expectation. 

Yet  I  know  of  no  volume  which  contains  a  richer  fund  of  wit 
and  wisdom,  and  amusing  lore.  It  presents  an  elegant  picture 
of  the  drawing-room  conversation  of  the  gifted  and  accomplished 
men  that  adorned  English  literature  and  enlivened  English 
politics  in  the  beginning  of  the  last  century.  Here  we  have  a 
minute  picture  of  the  studies,  tastes,  and  literary  and  domestic 


JEv AT.  28.]     SPENCE'S  ANECDOTES  OF  BOOKS  AND  MEN.  135 

habits  of  Pope  ;  the  bold,  dashing  and  vigorous  conversation  of 
him  "  whose  lightning  pierced  the  Iberian  lines ;"  the  eccentric 
and  brilliant  Earl  of  Peterborough ;  the  sagacious  and  powerful 
observations  of  Warburton,  never  without  a  tinge  of  malice ;  the 
philosophical  and  elegant  remarks  of  Bolingbroke,  always  with 
a  touch  of  nobleness ;  and  the  learned,  discursive  and  delightful 
anecdotes  of  the  Chevalier  Ramsay. 

The  author  is  the  Rev.  Joseph  Spence,  who  wrote  the  Poly- 
metis  and  other  literary  works.  He  was  a  man  of  considerable 
learning,  extensive  curiosity  and  polished  taste.  His  death  was 
singular.  He  was  found  drowned  in  his  garden,  in  a  pool  which 
was  not  deep  enough  to  cover  his  head  as  he  lay  extended.  The 
wits  of  the  time  amused  themselves  by  observing  that  the  man 
who  could  be  drowned  in  such  a  stream  must  have  been  still 
shallower  than  the  water. 

The  chief  value  of  the  book  consists  in  the  moral  and  critical 
reflections  which  it  contains ;  but  as  these  are  less  interesting  to 
general  readers,  I  shall  select  only  a  few  of  the  anecdotes. 

Sir  Godfrey  Kneller,  who  was  perhaps  the  vainest  man  that 
ever  lived,  yet  an  excellent  painter  and  a  pleasant  wit,  figures 
very  amusingly  in  this  volume. 

"  Did  you  never  hear  Sir  Godfrey's  dream  ?"  said  Pope  one 
day.  "No."  "Why,  then,  I'll  tell  it  to  you.  A  night  or  two 
ago,"  said  Sir  Godfrey,  "  I  had  a  very  odd  sort  of  dream.  I 
dreamt  that  I  was  dead,  and  soon  after  found  myself  walking  in 
a  narrow  path  that  led  up  between  two  hills,  rising  pretty  equally 
on  each  side  of  it.  Before  me  I  saw  a  door,  and  a  great  number 
of  people  about  it.  I  walked  on  toward  them.  As  I  drew 
nearer  I  could  distinguish  St.  Peter  by  his  keys,  with  some 
other  of  the  apostles ;  they  were  admitting  the  people  as  they 
came  next  the  door.  When  I  had  joined  the  company,  I  could 
see  several  seats,  every  way,  at  a  little  distance  within  the  door. 
As  the  first,  after  my  coming  up,  approached  for  admittance, 
St.  Peter  asked  him  his  name  and  then  his  religion.  '  I  am  a 
Roman  Catholic,'  replied  the  spirit.  'Go  in,  then,'  says  St. 
Peter,  'and  sit  down  on  those  seats  there  on  the  right  hand.' 
The  next  was  a  Presbyterian :  he  was  admitted  too,  after  the 


13G  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [$:TAT.  28. 

usual  questions,  and  ordered  to  sit  down  on  the  seats  opposite  to 
the  other.  My  turn  came  next,  and  as  I  approached,  St.  Peter 
very  civilly  asked  me  my  name.  I  said  it  was  Kneller.  I  had 
no  sooner  said  so  than  St.  Luke  (who  was  standing  just  by) 
turned  toward  me,  and  said  with  a  great  deal  of  sweetness — 
'What!  the  famous  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller  from  England?' 
'The  very  same,  sir,'  says  I,  'at  your  service.'  On  this  St. 
Luke  immediately  drew  near  to  me,  embraced  me,  and  made 
me  a  great  many  compliments  on  the  art  we  had  both  of  us 
followed  in  this  world.  He  entered  so  far  into  the  subject  that 
he  seemed  almost  to  have  forgot  the  business  for  which  I  came 
thither.  At  last,  however,  he  recollected  himself,  and  said  : 
'  I  beg  your  pardon,  Sir  Godfrey ;  I  was  so  taken  up  with  the 
pleasure  of  conversing  with  you  !  But,  apropos,  pray,  sir,  what 
religion  may  you  be  of?'  '  Why,  truly,  sir,'  says  I,  '  I  am  of  no 
religion.'  '  0,  sir,'  says  he,  'you  will  be  so  good  then  as  to  go 
in  and  take  your  seat  where  you  please.' " 

"I  paid  Sir  Godfrey  a  visit,"  said  Pope,  "but  two  days  be 
fore  he  died.  I  think  I  never  saw  a  scene  of  so  much  vanity  in 
my  life.  He  was  lying  in  bed,  and  contemplating  the  plan  he 
had  made  for  his  own  monument.  He  said  he  should  not  like 
to  lie  among  the  rascals  art  Westminster ;  a  memorial  there  would 
be  sufficient,  and  desired  me  to  write  an  epitaph  for  it." 

The  younger  Richardson  (in  the  Rlehardsoniana)  has  fur 
nished  us  with  another  anecdote  of  this  scene,  which  he  had 
from  Pope.  The  poet,  finding  his  friend  impatient  at  the 
thoughts  of  going  out  of  the  world,  told  him  he  had  been  a 
very  good  man,  and  no  doubt  would  go  to  a  better  place.  The 
dying  artist  reproved  this  meagre  cant  very  humorously.  "Ah! 
my  good  friend,  Mr.  Pope,"  said  he,  "I  wish  God  would  let  me 
stay  at  Whitton." 

There  are  in  this  volume  some  conversations  of  the  Signora 
Kosalba,  a  painter  of  miniatures  at  Venice,  all  of  which  taste  of 
true  genius.  She  remarked  of  Sir  Godfrey  :  "  I  concluded  he 
could  not  be  religious,  because  he  was  not  modest." 

"  As  I  was  sitting  by  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller  one  day,"  said  Pope, 
'whilst  he  was  drawing  a  picture,  he  stopped  and  said,  'I  can't 


28.]     SPEXCE'S  ANECDOTES  OF  BOOKS  ANTD  MEN.  137 

do  so  well  as  I  should  do,  unless  you  flatter  me  a  little  ;  pray 
flatter  me,  Mr.  Pope!  You  know  I  love  to  be  flattered.'  I 
was  once  willing  to  try  how  far  his  vanity  would  carry  him,  and 
after  considering  a  picture,  which  he  had  just  finished,  for  a  good 
while  very  attentively,  I  said  to  him  in  French,  (for  he  had  been 
talking  for  some  time  before  in  that  language,)  '  On  lit  dans  les 
Ecritures  Saintes,  que  le  bon  Dieu  faisoit  Vhomme  apris  son 
image :  mais,  je  crois,  que  s'i7  voudroit  faire  un  entire  a  pre 
sent,  qidl  le  feroit  aprts  V image  que  voild.'  Sir  Godfrey 
turned  around  and  said  very  gravely — '  Vous  avez  raison, 
Monsieur  Pope  ;  par  Dieu,  je  le  crois  aussi.J  " 

Secretary  Craggs  brought  Dick  Estcourt  once  to  Sir  God 
frey  Kneller's,  where  he  mimicked  several  persons  whom  he 
knew ;  as,  Lords  Godolphin,  Somers,  Halifax,  etc.  Sir  Godfrey 
was  highly  delighted,  took  the  joke  and  laughed  heartily  :  then 
they  gave  him  the  wink,  and  he  mimicked  Sir  Godfrey  himself, 
who  cried,  "  Xay,  now  you  are  out,  man ;  by  heaven,  that  is 
not  me." 

It  seems,  however,  that  when  the  point  played  upon  the 
vanity  of  the  artist,  the  latter  could  sometimes  put  teeth  in  his 
replies.  TVhen  Sir  Godfrey  was  once  talking  very  freely  about 
the  imperfections  of  the  world,  Pope  said  to  him,  "  If  Sir  God 
frey  had  been  consulted,  the  world  would  have  been  made  more 
perfect ;"  Kneller  immediately  turned  round,  and  looking  at  the 
diminutive  person  of  the  bard,  said,  with  a  good-humored 
smile,  "  "Without  doubt,  there  are  some  little  things  in  it  I  think 
I  could  have  mended." 

Such  is  the  anecdote  which  Bowles,  in  the  notes  to  his 
edition  of  Pope,  gives  us  as  the  true  version  of  a  story  differ 
ently  related  by  both  Walpole  and  Warton.  He  gives  no 
authority  for  his  form  of  the  reply ;  and  their  account,  which 
makes  Sir  Godfrey's  answer  a  simple  assent  to  Pope's  observa 
tion,  strikes  me  as  more  consistent  with  Sir  Godfrey's  character, 
whose  vanity  often  trenched  upon  the  bounds  where  sanity 
ceases  and  idiotcy  begins.  Bowles's  narrative  has  too  full-dress 
an  air ;  and  smells  strongly  of  the  malignity  which  that  editor 
delighted  to  infuse  into  everything  he  wrote  about  that  great 
12* 


138  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  28. 


and  admirable  poet.  I  rather  incline  to  think  that  they  are  all 
versions  of  the  story  above  related  about  the  picture. 

Here  is  an  anecdote  which  Dr.  Warburton  related,  and  which 
would  have  made  Rabelais  shake  with  laughter  in  his  "  easy- 
chair."  It  is  as  capital  a  specimen  of  natural  or  accidental 
humor  as  history  affords. 

Mr.  Pope  was  with  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller  one  day  when  his 
nephew,  a  Guinea-trader,  came  in.  "Nephew,"  said  Sir  God 
frey,  "  you  have  the  honor  of  seeing  the  two  greatest  men  in 
the  world."  "I  don't  know  how  great  you  may  be,"  said  the 
Guineaman,  "  but  I  don't  like  your  looks.  I  have  often  bought 
a  man  much  better  than  both  of  you  together,  all  muscles  and 
bones,  for  ten  guineas." 

There  are  several  anecdotes  of  Kneller,  in  the  Richardso- 
niana  ;  but  they  display  nothing  but  a  gross,  besotted  vanity, 
that  excites  disgust  rather  than  merriment.  The  passions  are 
amusing  only  so  long  as  they  are  struggling  with  reason  ; 
when  they  have  extinguished  it,  the  object  excites  only  pity  or 
aversion. 

I  add  another  anecdote  or  two  from  Spence. 

When  Sir  Isaac  Newton  was  consulted  about  the  rise  of 
South-Sea  stock  —  "I  cannot  estimate  the  madness  of  the  peo 
ple,"  replied  the  geometer. 

"  Sacrez-vous  vos  rois?"  said  the  Prince  of  Celemar  to  Lord 
Peterborough.  "  Si  nous  les  sacrons,  Monsieur,"  was  the  reply. 
"Parbleu,  nous  les  mas-  sacrons.  " 

"In  the  coffee-house  yesterday,"  said  Swift,  "I  received  a 
letter,  in  which  there  was  one  word  which  consisted  of  but  one 
syllable,  and  that  syllable  of  but  one  letter,  and  yet  the  fellow 
had  contrived  to  have  three  false  spellings  in  it."  It  was  the 
word  eye  that  was  written  for  I. 

Filicaja,  in  his  sonnets,  makes  use  of  many  expressions  bor 
rowed  from  the  Psalms,  and  consequently  not  generally  under 
stood  by  the  Italians.  A  gentleman  of  Florence,  on  reading 
some  of  the  passages  in  him,  (which  were  taken  literally  from 
David,)  cried  out  —  "  Oh,  are  you  there  again  with  your  Lom- 
bardisms  !"  and  flung  away  the  book  as  not  worth  the  reading. 


.ETAT.  23.]    ARNOLD'S  LECTURES  ON  MODERN  HISTORY.  139 

DR.    ARNOLD'S    LECTURES    ON    MODERN    HISTORY,    AND    MISCELLANEOUS 
WRITINGS. 

"  DR.  ARNOLD  is  justly  entitled  to  rank  among  the  great  men 
of  the  world,"  says  an  amiable  gentleman,  whose  lucubrations 
are  at  present  before  us.  This  is  not  exactly  true.  He  was  an 
ingenious,  independent,  earnest  speculator, — quick  to  catch  the 
suggestions  of  an  enlightened  skepticism,  and  fearless  in  follow 
ing  them  out  even  to  their  extreme  conclusions  ;  never  trusting 
to  the  dead  reckoning  in  his  political  or  moral  course,  but  con 
stantly  taking  new  observations,  on  all  matters  of  personal  or 
social  concern — generally  plausible,  sometimes  able,  always 
honest : — but  there  goes  more  to  the  making  of  a  great  man 
than  the  master  of  Rugby  had  attained.  He  was  a  man  of  many 
talents,  and  of  many  virtues,  possessing  some  of  both  in  extra 
ordinary  degrees ;  his  writings  deserve  the  studious  considera 
tion  of  scholars,  and  his  character  demands  the  sympathy  and 
reverence  of  all :  but  that  comprehension,  calmness,  expansion, 
strength  and  firmness,  which  give  a  nature  of  greatness  to 
either  mind  or  morals,  Dr.  Arnold  had  not.  Indeed,  an  intel 
lect  that  was  marked  by  so  many  novelties  of  opinion,  could 
never  be  of  the  first  order ;  for  the  highest  intellects,  though  they 
cast  the  truths  of  experience  into  new  order,  and  furnish  new 
demonstrations  of  them,  yet  always  move  parallel  with  the  col 
lective  sense  of  the  world,  and  in  their  spirit  and  conclusions 
are  in  harmony  with  it.  Arnold  loved  paradox ;  and  it  was  a 
recommendation  of  any  view  to  him  that  it  contradicted  the 
practice  of  ages,  or  the  instinct  of  the  nation ;  such  wisdom,  we 
will  only  say,  is  of  another  stamp  of  greatness  from  that  of 
Johnson,  Burke  and  Mackintosh.  His  intelligence  was  of  the 
microscopic  sort ;  he  saw  the  particular  matter  before  him,  with 
startling  clearness,  and  an  exaggerated  distinctness,  because  the 
light  was  concentrated  and  the  field  of  vision  narrow.  His 
mental  apprehension  was  too  sensitive,  which  made  its  opera 
tions  fall  too  much  into  intensities.  As  a  consequence  of  this, 
his  inductions  were  often  hurried  and  partial ;  his  opinions  ran 
into  affections;  and  those  differences  which  should  have  been 


140  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  28. 


taken  merely  as  distinctions  of  the  judgment,  were  held  with 
something  of  the  ardor  and  vehemence  of  passion.  He  asserted 
with  unquestioning  dogmatism;  and  attacked  the  notions  of 
others  with  an  intolerant  and  heated  zeal,  which,  as  he  changed 
his  own  opinions  frequently,  exposed  him  to  misunderstanding 
and  injury.  In  the  combination  of  his  moral  virtues  there  was 
a  want  of  proportion.  If  none  were  absent,  at  least  some  were 
in  excess.  The  materials  of  the  moral  structure  were  rare  and 
admirable  ;  the  architecture  faulty.  Particular  tones  in  the 
symphony  were  of  a  superhuman  loveliness  ;  the  whole  not  quite 
harmonious.  He  engages  by  his  sincerity;  stirs  us  with  his 
animation  and  eagerness;  raises  and  refines  our  principles  by 
the  purity  of  purpose  and  conscious  integrity  of  design  which 
everywhere  are  apparent  in  his  writings  :  but  he  fails  to  com 
mand  the  confidence  of  our  minds,  and  we  attend  to  his  finest 
displays  with  the  guarded  interest  and  suspecting  admiration 
which  we  lend  to  an  enthusiast,  rather  than  the  respect  and 
deference  which  we  pay  to  a  guide  and  teacher. 

But  the  point  of  view  in  which  the  characteristics  of  Dr. 
Arnold  strikes  us  as  possessing  most  interest,  consists  in  looking 
at  him  as  a  "sign  of  the  times,"  —  a  representative  of  the  quali 
ties  and  influences  of  the  present  century,  —  a  time  described  by 
Carlyle,  accurately  enough,  as  "destitute  of  faith,  and  terrified 
at  skepticism."  The  social  and  political  development  of  nations 
has  been  hitherto  carried  on  by  the  united  operation  of  two 
divergent  elements,  —  those  of  Order  and  Progress  ;  and  almost 
every  mind  has  been  constituted  by  nature  for  serving  under 
the  banner  of  one  or  other  of  these  principles,  the  grand  re 
sultant  of  whose  antagonist  action  is  seen  in  the  actual  history 
of  the  world.  This  distinction,  which  is  in  effect  that  of  whig 
and  tory,  runs  through  all  time  and  appears  in  every  European 
nation:  and  almost  every  great  mind,  especially  among  the 
English,  may  be  referred  to  one  or  other  of  these  types.  But 
of  late  years,  in  England  particularly,  this  distinction  seems  to 
have  become  confused  in  the  politics  of  the  country,  and  one 
new  blended  system  to  have  taken  the  place  of  the  two  opposing, 
yet  harmonious  elements,  which  formerly  wrought  out  the  go- 


.   28.]  MONTAGUE'S  SELECTIONS.  141 

vernment.  It  is  therefore  not  surprising  that  a  corresponding 
anomaly  should  show  itself  in  the  frame  or  operation  of  the 
eminent  minds  of  the  time ;  or  that  an  Arnold  should  appear  in 
philosophy  when  a  Peel  is  found  on  the  Treasury  Bench.  As  the 
opinions  and  sentiments  of  such  men  are  not  associated  accord 
ing  to  the  laws  which  we  had  become  familiar  with  in  either  of 
the  other  two  classes,  we  are  inclined  to  call  them  inconsistent 
and  self-contradictory.  It  is  true,  they  are  metaphysically  re 
pugnant  and  irregular :  but  it  does  not  follow  that  positively 
they  are  false.  Dr.  Arnold  might  be  characterized,  in  religion, 
as  a  Kempis-Yoltaire  ;  in  politics,  as  a  Johnson-Cobbett.  His 
theory  of  society  was  a  mosaic  of  Toryism  inlaid  with  Radicalism : 
his  scheme  of  government  was  absolutism  interleaved  with 
anarchy.  The  principle  of  a  church  he  asserted  with  an  ardor 
and  constancy  as  great  as  Newman's,  and  fought  with  still 
greater  eagerness,  against  every  practical  embodiment  of  the 
principle.  He  maintained  the  union  of  Church  and  State  in 
the  abstract,  and  battered  it  down  in  detail.  All  this  renders 
his  character  curious  and  his  writings  remarkable.  Those  who 
know  how  to  read  such  authors  may  draw  much  instruction 
from  his  volumes.  He  shakes  up  the  elements  of  opinion  in  his 
reader,  and  sets  one  to  thinking  on  many  subjects  which  one 
had  scarcely  deemed  questionable  before.  Whether,  as  men 
now  are,  there  is  much  benefit  likely  to  flow  from  that,  we  shall 
not  try  to  determine. 


WILEY  <fc  PUTNAM'S  LIBRARY  OP  CHOICE  READING.  Vol.  xxvi. ;  contain 
ing  selections  from  TAYLOR,  BARROW,  SOUTH,  FULLER,  &c.  By  BASIL 
MONTAGUE.  New  York,  Wiley  &  Putnam,  161  Broadway. 

THIS  is  a  noble  series  of  works,  and  we  desire  to  commend  it, 
specially,  to  the  patronage  of  families  and  individuals.  It  seems 
to  us  to  be  peculiarly  important,  at  this  time,  that  the  commu 
nity  should  manifest  a  decided  and  active  interest  in  favor  of 
publications  which  pretend  to  some  better  merits  than  mere 
popularity  and  cheapness.  We  confess  that  we  have  begun  to 
feel  some  concern  about  the  ultimate  results  of  cheap  printing, 


142  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [vErAT.  28. 

specious  and  alluring  as  some  of  its  attractions  undoubtedly  are. 
The  old  system  of  publication  it  lias  pretty  completely  broken 
up  ;  and  the  channels  of  what  was  termed  the  trade  have  become 
so  much  disturbed,  that  a  recurrence  to  it  is  not  easily  practi 
cable.  If,  therefore,  the  new  method  is  not  to  develop  from 
itself  a  literature  equal,  or  superior  to  the  old  one,  in  the  sub 
stantial  excellence  of  the  works,  or  in  the  mechanical  execution 
of  them,  the  mere  privilege  of  buying  worthless  volumes  at  a 
low  price,  will  poorly  compensate  us  for  the  inability  to  get 
handsome  and  good  ones  on  any  terms  whatever.  Hitherto,  it 
must  be  admitted,  the  results  have  been  truly  melancholy  ;  and 
we  cannot  see  that  matters  exhibit  any  tendency  to  recover 
themselves  ;  on  the  contrary,  the  declension,  both  in  the  cha 
racter  and  the  appearance  of  the  works,  has  rather  gone  on  at  a 
more  rapid  rate,  as  the  system  has  become  more  firmly  estab 
lished.  The  new  style  of  publication  is  sufficiently  well  suited 
to  that  kind  of  literature,  now  perhaps  the  most  abundant,  whose 
popularity  is  as  transient  as  it  is  rapid  and  universal ;  for  the 
volume  itself  has  worn  out  and  perished,  when  the  interest  of  the 
composition  has  exhaled  ;  and  the  one  is  fit  only  to  be  cast  forth 
from  the  drawing-room  or  the  shop  about  the  same  time  that 
the  other  is  ejected  forever  from  the  regard  and  recollection  of 
readers.  But  books  fit  to  be  kept,  must  be  printed  with  some 
elegance,  to  allow  of  their  preservation  ;  a  publisher,  however, 
cannot  safely  make  this  provision  for  future  times,  unless  he  is 
allowed  the  benefit  of  the  present  popularity  of  the  work.  But 
now,  a  cheap  edition  strikes  in  between  him  and  his  market,  and 
his  more  costly  publication  remains  upon  his  shelves  to  await 
the  lagging  demand  of  those  who  shall  be  desirous  of  reading 
the  work  after  the  other  impression  has  vanished  from  existence. 
Accordingly,  all  descriptions  of  publishers,  both  regulars  and 
volunteers,  have  joined  in  one  reckless  race  of  cheapness  and 
vulgarity  for  the  depreciated  prize  of  popularity.  Each  has 
succeeded  enough  to  ruin  the  others,  but  not  enough  to  benefit 
himself ;  and  the  public  which  was  the  dupe  of  its  own  short 
sighted  cupidity,  finds  at  last  that  if  it  has  given  little,  it  has 
got  less  than  nothing. 


2ETAT.  28.]  MONTAGUE'S  SELECTIONS.  143 

Wiley  &  Putnam's  Library  of  Choice  Reading  is  an  honor 
able  and  laudable  attempt  to  introduce  a  better  state  of  things. 
The  volumes  are  cheap,  but  they  are  printed  with  what  would 
have  been  superior  elegance  even  in  the  days  of  octavos  and 
leather  bindings ;  the  moral  and  literary  tone  of  the  works  is 
the  highest  and  most  unexceptionable.  They  consist  in  almost 
all  instances  of  selections  from  those  works  which,  though 
adapted  to  be  extensively  popular,  are  yet,  in  point  of  fact, 
somewhat  difficult  to  obtain;  having  agreeableness  enough  to 
make  them  universally  acceptable,  and  a  tone  of  refinement  and 
purity  high  enough  to  save  them  from  notoriety.  Some  of  the 
works  are  not  merely  salutary,  but,  as  Bacon  would  say,  "medi 
cinal  to  the  times."  A  man  may  count  it  among  his  good  deeds, 
tending  to  the  repose  of  conscience  at  the  close  of  his  life,  to 
have  been  instrumental  in  giving  circulation  to  such  a  book  as 
that  which  comes  so  immediately  under  our  notice  as  the  twenty- 
sixth  volume  of  this  series — Basil  Montague's  Selections.  We 
are  not  favorably  inclined,  as  a  general  thing,  to  these  excerpted 
presentations  of  an  author  now  becoming  quite  common  among 
us.  "  Distilled  books,"  says  Bacon,  "  like  distilled  waters,  are 
flashy  things ;"  and  selections  are,  as  commonly,  vapid  ones. 
But  there  is  room  for  discrimination.  To  compile  Beauties  from 
Addison,  Specimens  of  Johnson,  or  Selections  out  of  Irving, — 
writers  of  short  papers,  in  which  every  paragraph  is  a  specimen 
of  composition,  every  sentence  a  selected  elegance,  and  every 
phrase  beautiful — is  a  plain  mistake.  But  the  great  authors  of 
an  earlier  time — the  heroic  age  in  letters — thought  that  an  en 
during  reputation  could  be  established  only  by  some  large 
treatise  on  some  vast  and  comprehensive  topic  ;  they  likened  a 
book  to  an  animated  being,  to  which  form  and  organization  are 
of  vital  consequence,  or  to  a  building,  such  as  a  cathedral,  of 
which  magnitude,  proportion,  and  detail  are  of  the  essence. 
These  colossal  productions,  though  they  have  kept  their  authors' 
names  alive,  have  not  been  able  to  keep  themselves  so.  If  the 
subject  was  useful,  and  the  conclusion  right,  the  result  passed 
into  the  general  sense  of  the  world,  and  the  process  ceased  to 
have  interest ;  if  the  theme  was  temporary,  or  the  deduction 


1 44  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [JExAT.  28. 

mistaken,  every  succeeding  critic  signalized  the  failure  of  a  work 
in  which  perhaps  he  could  not  have  written  the  feeblest  section. 
Either  way,  they  remain  as  monuments  of  the  strength  or  ex 
travagance  of  the  human  intellect,  but  have  ceased  to  be  a  part 
of  the  living  literature  of  the  nation.  Yet  are  they,  like  the 
tombs  of  the  old  Etruscan  kings,  full  of  rare  treasures.  They 
are  abounding  in  all  the  wealth  of  thought  and  language ;  a 
majestic  rhetoric  rolling  along,  in  a  sounding  stream,  the  con 
fluent  riches  of  wisdom  and  wit,  learning  and  invention,  moral 
prophecy  and  politic  shrewdness.  All  that  has  permanent  and 
present  interest,  for  any  man,  in  these  works, — all  that  common 
readers  can  enjoy  or  that  the  studious  book-man  does,  in  point 
of  fact,  revert  to  and  dwell  upon,  may  be  brought  into  the  com 
pass  of  a  very  few  pages.  Indeed,  the  disgust  occasioned  by 
the  formal  cast,  and  scholastic  manner,  and  antiquated  style  of 
these  writers,  is  so  great,  that  to  be  read  at  all,  they  must  be 
read  thus,  as  it  were,  from  the  commonplace  book  of  a  candid 
and  judicious  scholar.  Who,  for  example,  now  cares  to  be 
amazed  and  fatigued  by  the  daring  subtleties  of  "  The  Divine  Le 
gation  ?"  Yet,  what  examples  of  sense  and  sarcasm,  what  pre 
cious  illustrations,  and  what  vivid  eloquence  might  be  picked 
out  of  it !  How  many  at  present,  are  eager  to  wade  through 
the  morasses  of  quotations  from  whose  midst  spring  Taylor's 
fairy  islands  of  originality,  for  the  sake  even  of  the  fragrant 
flowers  and  golden  fruit  that  bloom  there  as  they  bloom  no 
where  else  ?  Who  is  willing  to  sit  out  one  of  Fuller's  elabor 
ated  and  highly-spirited  entertainments,  though  a  single  dish 
from  his  profuse  table  would  be  prized  as  a  feast-day's  dinner 
to  the  daintiest  modern  appetite  ?  Many  could  enjoy  the  ethics 
and  poetry  of  Bacon  who  can  make  nothing  of  his  science,  and 
admire  the  copious  logic  of  Barrow,  or  taste  the  strong  sagacity 
and  as  strong  humor  of  South,  who  care  little  for  their  theology. 
The  merit  of  Basil  Montague  in  this  selection,  consisted  there 
fore,  in  perceiving  the  exactly  fitting  application  of  a  plan  which 
had  been  applied  injudiciously  a  hundred  times  :  this  being  one 
of  the  many  cases  in  which  it  requires  more  understanding  to 
use  a  conception  rightly  than  to  have  originally  suggested  it 


.  28.]  MONTAGUE'S  SELECTIONS.  145 

A  collection  like  this,  restricted  to  relics  of  antiquity,  differs 
from  Elegant  Extracts,  or  Beauties  of  Popular  Authors,  furnish- 
ed  with  miniature  specimens  of  what  we  are  daily  conversant 
with  in  large,  in  the  same  way  that  a  museum  differs  from  a 
baby-house.  We  may  add  that  the  compilers  of  Anthologies 
might,  we  think,  properly  take  a  hint  from  Mr.  Montague's  ex 
ample  ;  and  leaving  alone  Milton,  Shakspeare,  and  Pope — ge 
ranium  authors  of  whom  every  leaf  is  a  flower — bring  the  pro 
cess  of  excerpting  to  bear  upon  Lee,  Blackmore,  Davenant,  and 
Drayton,  writers  who  have  five  lines  well  worth  remembering 
among  five  hundred  scarce  worth  reading. 

Montague  is  well  known  to  professional  persons  as  an  eminent 
chancery  lawyer ;  and  recently  to  the  public  by  his  edition  of 
Bacon,- — in  our  judgment,  a  very  respectable,  but  very  complete 
failure.  His  powers  are  not  great ;  but  his  reading  has  been 
extensive  and  curious ;  his  taste  is  delicate  and  correct ;  his 
sympathies  high  and  good ;  and  his  principles  amiable,  enlight 
ened,  and  humane.  His  name  will  long  be  remembered  from 
its  connection  with  this  pleasing  volume,  a  work  which  will 
prove  as  useful  to  the  morals  of  this  age  and  succeeding  ones, 
as  it  is  honorable  to  the  past.  As  we  open  it  an  atmosphere 
of  quiet  and  awe  seems  to  expand  around  us,  filled  with 
the  lustre  of  purity  and  peace.  We  find  ourselves  on  the  hill 
top  of  virtue  and  truth,  in  the  presence  of  august  intelligencies, 
arrayed  in  stainless  garments  and  conversing  together  as  in  a 
cloud  of  heaven ;  and  we  cannot  err  in  thinking  that  it  is  good 
for  any  one  to  be  here.  A  feeling  almost  sad  creeps  over  us 
with  the  reminiscences  that  the  names  of  Taylor,  Fuller,  and 
Milton  call  up  ;  and  we  are  nearly  ready  to  fly  away  from  "  the 
guilt  and  fever  of  city  life"  and  professional  strain,  and  abide 
always  in  "the  still  air  of  delightful  studies." 

We  had  intended  to  offer  a  few  suggestions  to  the  editor  of 
this  series,  whoever  he  may  be,  as  to  the  future  contents  of  his 
list ;  but  upon  looking  at  the  advertisement  in  the  last  number, 
where  we  see  the  names  of  Landor,  De  Quinccy,  and  Beckford, 
we  believe  that  we  are  anticipated  as  to  nearly  all  that  we  should 
have  named.  In  regard  to  Landor,  we  take  it  for  granted  that  the 
13 


146  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [2RiAT.  29. 

editor  will  not  overlook  "  The  Citation  and  Examination  of 
Shakspearc  for  Deer  Stealing,"  nor  the  Dialogues  of  Petrarch 
and  Boccacio,  both  of  which,  we  believe,  were  published  anony 
mously.  Of  Mr.  De  Quincey,  we  shall  of  course  have  the 
articles  on  Shakspeare,  Pope,  and  Schiller,  from  the  Encyclo 
paedia,  the  articles  in  Blackwood,  and  a  judicious  selection  from 
those  in  Tait.  What  would  the  editor  think  of  "The  Doctor," 
&c.  ?  Only  two  volumes  of  the  five  were  ever  published  in  this 
country,  and  those  so  villainously  that  it  is  a  charitable  hope 
that  not  a  single  impression  is  now  to  be  found.  Has  he  ever 
fallen  in  with  a  little  work  called  "  Conversation  at  Cambridge" 
- — an  exquisite  morsel  of  scholarship  and  genius ;  or  another 
called  "The  Living  and  the  Dead" — full  of  genuine  humor, 
brilliant  sense,  and  beautiful  composition?  We  have  several 
of  Lamb's  works  in  the  series ;  we  confess  we  should  like  to 
see  his  letters  as  published  by  Talfourd.  But  we  have  entire 
confidence  in  the  resources  and  good  judgment  of  the  gentleman 
who  presides  over  the  work,  and  are  quite  sure  that  nothing 
really  proper  will  be  omitted. 


A  POPULAR  AND  PRACTICAL  INTRODUCTION  TO  LAW  STUDIES,  etc.    By  SAMUEL 
WARREN,  Esq.,  of  the  Inner  Temple. 

MR.  CANNING  said  of  Ward,  the  author  of  Tremaine,  who 
wrote  also  on  the  Law  of  Nations,  that  his  law  books  were  as 
pleasant  as  novels,  and  his  novels  as  dull  as  law  books.  In  that 
instance  there  was  more  truth  in  the  disparaging  half  of  the  re 
mark,  than  it  was  at  all  necessary  that  there  should  be  in  any 
thing  so  witty.  Those  who  did  not  relish  the  politics  or  the  pecu 
liar  humor  of  "  Ten  Thousand  a  Year,"  might  be  disposed  to  think 
that  something  of  the  same  transposition  of  talents  had  taken 
place  in  Mr.  Warren's  case,  and  that  a  portion  of  the  prosiness 
had  been  let  out  upon  the  scenes  which  ought  to  have  been  re 
served  for  the  Studies.  For  our  own  part,  however,  we  have 
always  thought  that  work  the  most  readable  novel,  and  the  best 
worth  preserving,  of  any  since  the  death  of  Scott.  But  what- 


.  29.]  WARREN'S  LAW  STUDIES.  147 

ever  may  be  thought  of  the  present  treatise,  there  will  be  no 
doubt  among  any  class  of  readers,  that  it  has  all  the  liveliness 
and  point  of  a  clever  romance.  The  first  edition  was  exten 
sively  read  both  here  and  in  England ;  this  new  edition  presents 
not  merely  an  enlarged  and  improved  version  of  the  original 
production,  but  in  addition,  another  separate  work  incorporated 
with  it,  of  a  more  practical  character, — exhibiting  an  outline  of 
civil,  criminal,  and  ecclesiastical  law,  as  those  distinctions  exist 
in  England, — an  account  of  the  immense  changes  which  the 
legislation  of  the  last  fifteen  years  has  made  in  conveyancing, — 
an  abstract  of  the  principles  of  pleading,  which  is  none  the  worse 
for  being  pretty  literally  copied  from  Sergeant  Stephen, — and  a 
view  of  the  jurisdiction  and  proceedings  of  the  Spiritual  Courts, 
a  subject  highly  curious  and  interesting  to  American  readers. 

Mr.  Warren's  book  is  as  good  a  book,  we  suppose,  as  could 
be  made  by  anybody  upon  this  plan  :  but  we  have  no  very  high 
respect  for  the  design  itself.  We  have  doubts  of  the  practica 
bility  of  thus  trying  to  shoot  between  wind  and  water ;  and  are 
inclined  to  think,  in  endeavoring  to  be  at  the  same  time  popular 
and  professional,  the  author  will  have  to  meet  the  fate  of  those 
who  are  candidates  for  inconsistent  honors.  There  are  many 
ways  of  making  legal  martinets  and  petit-maizes  ;  there  is  only 
one  way  to  make  a  lawyer,  and  that  is,  earnest,  concentrated, 
continued  hard  labor ;  the  "  live-like-a-hermit  and  work-like-a 
horse"  method  of  Lord  Eldon.  And  it  appears  to  us  to  be 
more  desirable  that  all  the  native  difficulties,  roughness,  and 
disgusts  of  the  thing,  should  be  met  at  once;  and  that  the 
student  should  understand,  at  the  very  threshold  of  the  profes 
sion,  that  his  taste  and  temper  must  be  accommodated  to  the 
law,  and  not  that  the  law  is  to  be  moulded  to  suit  his  temper 
and  tastes.  And  if  it  were  possible  to  make  the  preparation  for 
the  law  an  easy  and  pleasant  matter,  it  would  be,  in  our  opinion, 
a  very  unfortunate  thing.  The  discipline  of  difficulty, — the  al 
terative  and  bracing  influences  of  its  severity  and  rigor — are  the 
inestimable  blessings  which  the  study  of  the  law  promises  to 
those  who  adopt  it.  To  simplify  it  in  such  a  way  that  it  should 
require  no  effort,  no  patient  research,  no  long,  keen  courses  of 


148  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  29. 

thought,  would  be  as  injudicious  as  to  make  the  exercises  of  the 
gymnasium, — the  climbing  of  ladders,  the  jerking  of  dumb  bells, 
or  the  swinging  on  parallel  bars — light  and  unfatiguing :  in  both 
cases,  it  is  in  the  hardness  of  the  occupation  that  its  value  con 
sists.  The  law  is,  and  always  must  be,  a  severe,  perplexing, 
profoundly  difficult  science,  adapted  only  to  great  intellects,  in 
whose  constitution  all  the  faculties  have  been  happily  developed 
in  their  fullest  force  and  fineness,  by  principle,  circumstances, 
or  the  power  of  passions ;  because  the  subject  with  which  the 
legal  mind  deals  is  complicated  of  all  the  variety  of  earthly  oc 
currences,  the  confusion  of  worldly  conjunctures,  the  range  and 
obliquity  of  human  interests.  Those  who  propose  to  make  law 
simple  and  easy,  seem  to  us  to  make  a  mistake  as  to  what  law 
means,  as  a  profession  and  practical  science.  It  is  not  an  affair 
of  books  ;  it  does  not  lie  in  a  knowledge  of  certain  traditions  and 
secrets  among  a  certain  set  of  men,  and  a  familiarity  with  some 
special  ceremonies  and  rites  connected  with  particular  public 
tribunals.  It  consists  in  the  ordering  of  human  society,  in  the 
settlement  of  men's  interests,  the  vindication  of  respective  rights, 
and  the  adjustment  of  the  moral  relations  of  the  community.  To 
find  out  the  truth  of  a  protracted  and  involved  course  of  action 
— to  discover  how  far  and  in  how  many  different  directions  the 
line  of  justice  has  been  departed  from  by  all  parties  concerned, 
and  how,  accurately  and  safely,  the  tangled  error  can  be  brought 
straight ; — this  is  THE  LAW  ;  this  is  what  the  Counsellors,  and 
the  Judges,  are  engaged  about ;  the  definitions,  rules,  maxims 
and  forms,  which  fill  the  text-books,  are  not  the  profession  or 
practice  itself,  but  are  designed  to  minister  to  that  of  which  they 
might  be  said  to  form  no  part  whatever ; — to  simplify,  by  re 
ducing  as  much  as  is  possible  to  general  and  familiar  concep 
tions, — to  aid,  by  suggestions  of  good  sense  and  sound  logic, 
embodied  in  fixed  usages  and  received  axioms,  to  keep  the  sa 
gacity  of  the  professors  on  the  alert,  and  impart  rectitude  to 
their  judgment.  Such  being  the  case,  it  is  plain  that  the  real 
stress  and  pressure  of  this  great  practical  profession,  never  can 
be  lessened  until  the  elements  and  laws  of  moral  being  are 
changed ;  and  the  subject  of  legal  education  resolves  itself  into 


JETAT.  29.]  WARREN'S  LAW  STUDIES,  149 

a  question  whether  the  strain  shall  be  diffused  over  years  of  irk 
some  and  laborious  education,  or  be  accumulated  upon  the  oc 
casions  of  practice.  It  appears  to  us,  that  so  far  from  striving 
to  coddle  and  intenerate  the  mental  fibres  of  the  young  appren 
tice  to  the  law,  by  facilitating  every  process,  the  effort  should 
be  rather  to  heap  difficulties  and  trials  upon  that  period  of  pro 
bation,  provided,  of  course,  that  the  matter  is  not  carried  to  the 
extent  of  shocking  and  breaking  down  the  spirit  and  strength. 
That  the  youthful  nature  is  disinclined  to  effort,  we  know  very 
well ;  but  that  any  one  should  be  disposed  to  humor  and  foster 
this  disposition,  is  to  us  surprising.  Such  is  the  law  of  our  im 
perfect  condition,  that  labor  is  our  greatest  privilege  and  bless 
ing  ;  the  true  path  to  happiness ;  the  appropriate  development 
of  our  best  power ;  the  only  source  of  our  highest  virtues.  Be 
sides  this,  we  are  inclined  to  think  that  by  making  preliminary 
study  easy,  one  great  incentive  to  after  professional  energy  will 
be  withdrawn.  A  long,  distressing  discipline  of  research  and 
thought  leaves  a  kind  of  fine  resentment  in  the  nature  :  a  man  is 
anxious  to  wreak  the  power  which  he  feels  within  him,  upon 
some  high  course  of  professional  action  ;  to  justify  the  propriety 
of  his  long,  solitary  labors,  to  himself  and  others,  by  displaying 
an  abundance  of  valuable  fruits  from  them ;  to  vindicate  his  own 
conscious  superiority  against  the  negligence  of  society,  by  forc 
ing  himself  to  distinction.  In  addition  to  this,  by  simplifying 
study,  and  communicating  the  results  of  knowledge,  instead  of 
imparting  the  means  of  attaining  it,  you  take  away  a  great  part 
of  the  knowledge  itself;  at  least,  you  impair  the  distinctness 
with  which  it  is  apprehended.  A  man  never  fully  knows 
any  truth,  till  he  has  discovered  it,  anew,  for  himself;  nor 
wholly  understands  a  conclusion  till  he  has  seen  it  analytically 
in  the  form  of  its  elements.  The  old  way  of  teaching  boys 
to  swim,  was  to  plunge  them  souse  into  the  river,  and  let 
them  kick  for  their  lives :  now,  they  tie  cork  jackets  on 
them,  and  give  a  great  deal  of  instruction  in  hydrostatics  and 
anatomy,  beforehand.  But  it  is  easier,  in  every  thing,  to  proceed 
from  the  practice  to  the  theory,  than  from  the  theory  to  the 
practice :  practice,  indeed,  teaches  the  theory,  and  is  the  only 
13* 


150  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  28. 

way  of  learning  it  thoroughly,  but  theory  does  not  teach  prac 
tice.  We  would  give  more  for  the  few,  definite,  precise,  and 
actual  notions  which  a  young  man  will  have  after  working  and 
crying  over  Littleton,  than  the  mass  of  vague,  vaporous  half- 
shaped  conceptions  he  will  ever  acquire  from  a  book  of  this  sort. 
We  do  not  mean  to  disparage  Mr.  Warren's  treatise  in  particular ; 
but  only  the  system  to  which  it  is  accommodated.  His  work  is 
ingenious  and  amusing  ;  and  in  an  age  like  this,  which  is  at  once 
restless,  busy  and  inactive,  and  is  fond  of  touching  knowledge  at 
a  great  many  points,  it  is  adapted  to  be  generally  popular. 


THE  LIFE  OP  THE  REV.  JOSEPH  BLANCO  WHITE.  Written  by  himself;  with 
Portions  of  his  Correspondence.     Edited  by  JOHX  HAMILTON  THOM.     In 
,    three  vols.  London,  1845. 

WE  know  not  why  these  curious  and  instructive  volumes  have 
not  yet  found  a  publisher  in  this  country ;  unless  it  be  that 
they  are  neither  fantastic  enough,  nor  prurient  enough,  to  be 
suited  to  the  popular  taste.  They  are  the  record  of  the  life  of 
a  most  amiable  and  excellent  person,  whose  religious  nature 
having  once  got  out  of  poise,  was  never  happy  enough  to  re 
cover  its  balance.  Sincere,  earnest,  acute  even  to  subtlety,  he 
was  able  to  confute  all  errors,  but  never  able  to  settle  the  truth. 
If  a  man  has  but  a  touch  of  philosophy  in  him,  he  must  read 
this  autobiography  with  a  profound  and  almost  painful  interest. 
If  he  is  himself  a  wanderer,  he  will  desire  aid  and  guidance  ;  if, 
happily,  his  own  views  are  fixed,  he  will  rise  from  its  perusal 
"  a  sadder  and  a  wiser  man."  The  experience  which  it  records, 
is  such  as  probably  only  the  nineteenth  century  could  have 
rendered  practicable,  and  which  a  man  must  have  been  very 
peculiarly  situated  even  then  to  partake  of.  Chillingworth's 
variations,  indeed,  bear  some  resemblance  to  Blanco 's ;  but  his 
were  merely  speculative  and  notional,  while  Blanco's  were  actual, 
practical,  and  real.  Here  is  a  man  who  passes  in  succession 
through  the  characters  of  a  devoted  Romish  priest,  an  atheist, 
an  earnest  clergyman  of  the  Church  of  England,  an  Unitarian, 
a  rationalist,  an  utter  unbeliever  in  all  revelation  ;  proving  the 


28.]  BLANCO  WHITE.  151 

soundness  of  each  of  these  systems  while  he  is  in  it,  and  its  utter 
falseness  the  instant  he  has  left  it ;  yet  in  all  these  changes 
never  weakening  the  integrity  nor  sullying  the  sensitive  purity 
of  his  moral  nature,  and  never  forfeiting  the  esteem  and  affection 
of  those  with  whom  he  had  been  associated,  many  of  them,  too, 
the  ablest  and  most  eminent  persons  in  the  nation. 

But  our  purpose  is  to  refer  only  to  Blanco  White's  literary 
character.  There  are  in  this  book  some  small  poems  of  White's 
which,  in  our  judgment,  are  among  the  most  genuine  and  beau 
tiful  that  we  have  ever  met  with  from  the  pen  of  one  not  pro 
fessionally  a  poet.  Of  the  following,  Coleridge,  in  a  letter  to 
the  author,  says,  that  it  is  "  the  finest  and  most  grandly  con 
ceived  sonnet  in  our  language :  at  least,"  he  adds,  "  it  is  only  in 
Milton's  and  in  Wordsworth's  sonnets  that  I  recollect  any  rival 
to  it ;  and  this  is  not  my  judgment  alone,  but  that  of  the  man, 
^a?'  £%o%yv  fyao^ahov,  John  Hookham  Frere."  To  us,  it  appears 
to  be  conceived  in  the  temper  of  that  profoundly  meditative 
sentiment  which  we  meet  with  only  in  the  Greek  Anthology,  and 
to  be  expressed  with  the  sensuous  richness  of  true  poetry.  It 
is  a  sublime  composition. 

SONNET  ON  NIGHT  AND  DEATH. 

Mysterious  Night !  when  our  first  parent  knew 

Thee,  from  report  divine,  and  heard  thy  name, 

Did  he  not  tremble  for  this  lovely  frame, 
This  glorious  canopy  of  light  and  blue  ? 
Yet  'neath  a  curtain  of  translucent  dew, 

Bathed  in  the  rays  of  the  great  setting  flame, 

Hesperus  with  the  host  of  Heaven  came, 
And  lo  !  creation  widened  in  man's  view. 
Who  could  have  thought  such  darkness  lay  concealed 

Within  thy  beams,  Oh  sun  ?  or  who  could  find, 
Whilst  fly,  and  leaf,  and  insect  stood  revealed, 

That  to  such  countless  orbs  thou  mad'st  us  blind  ? 
Why  do  we  then  shun  death  with  anxious  strife  ? 
If  light  can  thus  deceive,  wherefore  not  life  ? 

Another  sonnet,  "On  hearing  myself  for  the  first  time 
called  an  old  man ;  aetat.  50,"  is  singularly  truthful  and 
touching : 


152  LITERARY   CRITICISMS.  [£)TAT.  28. 

Ages  have  rolled  within  my  breast,  though  yet 
Not  nigh  the  bourn  to  fleeting  man  assigned  : 
Yes  :  old !  alas,  how  spent  the  struggling  mind 

Which,  at  the  noon  of  life,  is  fain  to  set! 

My  dawn  and  evening  have  ao  closely  met, 
That  men  the  shades  of  night  begin  to  find 
Darkening  my  brow ,•  and  heedless,  not  unkind, 

Let  the  sad  warning  drop,  without  regret. 

Gone  youth  !  had  I  thus  missed  thee,  nor  a  hope 

Were  left  of  thy  return  beyond  the  tomb, 
I  could  curse  life :  but  glorious  is  the  scope 

Of  an  immortal  soul.     Oh  death,  thy  gloom, 

Short,  and  already  tinged  with  coming  light, 

Is  to  the  Christian  but  a  summer's  night. 

Poor  Blanco !  ere  the  shadows  of  that  night  gathered  about 
him,  he  had  reasoned  himself  out  of  all  belief  in  a  dawn  beyond 
the  darkness. 

These  exquisite  couplets,  entitled  "A  thought  suggested  by 
the  custom  of  writing  a  few  lines  to  be  kept  as  a  memorial 
of  the  writer,"  flow  from  the  deep  fountains  of  thoughtful 
feeling. 

Mysterious  Lines  !  the  heart  is  loth  to  tell 
The  gloomy  sources  of  your  wonted  spell. 
Absence  and  Death,  these  are  the  magic  springs 
That  turn  to  treasures  e'en  such  worthless  things. 
But  why  complain  ?     The  softness  that  pervades 
Man's  truest  virtues,  springs  beneath  death's  shades. 
'Tis  sorrow  tempers  joy's  too  dangerous  glare; 
Too  proud  would  be  the  eye  ne'er  moistened  by  a  tear. 

There  are  some  delightful  letters  from  Southey  in  these 
volumes;  learned,  playful,  ardent,  "full  of  matter,"  as  the 
Laureate  was  ever  wont  to  be ;  some  from  Coleridge,  more 
respectful  and  to  the  point,  than  was  usual  with  that  quaint 
enthusiast,  and  a  copious  correspondence  with  Dr.  Channing. 
In  a  letter  of  the  latter  to  Mr.  Thorn,  after  the  death  of  Blanco 
White,  we  find  this  beautiful  thought : — "  I  have  sometimes 
observed  on  the  beach,  which  I  am  in  the  habit  of  visiting,  a 
solemn  unceasing  undertone,  quite  distinct  from  the  dashings  of 
the  separate  successive  waves ;  and  so  in  certain  minds,  I  ob- 


29.]  SYDNEY   SMITH'S   SERMONS.  153 

serve  a  deep  undertone  of  truth,  even  when  they  express  par 
ticular  views  which  seem  to  me  discordant  and  false.  I  had 
always  this  feeling  about  Mr.  White.  I  could  not  always  agree 
with  him,  but  I  felt  that  he  never  lost  his  grasp  of  the  greatest 
truths." 


MISCELLANEOUS  SERMONS.    By  the  Key.  SYDNEY  SMITH. 

IF  the  dignity  of  any  mental  quality  were  to  be  judged  by 
the  greatness  and  splendor  of  the  faculties  with  which  it  is  com 
monly  found  in  company,  humor  would  probably  be  ranked  as 
one,  the  loftiest  and  least  earthly,  of  our  intellectual  character 
istics.  It  is  the  almost  inseparable  associate  of  genius,  as  wit 
is  the  usual  attendant  of  talent :  nay,  in  its  finest  essence,  as  in 
the  instances  of  Cervantes,  Rabelais,  Sterne,  and  Hood,  it  well 
nigh  constitutes,  in  itself,  an  inspiration.  It  is  equally  often 
seen  in  combination  with  strong  sense  and  piercing  logic.  It  is 
allied  to  pathetic  sentiment ;  it  mingles  naturally  and  gracefully 
with  the  deepest  feeling :  it  is  akin  to  noble  principle,  and  the 
sincerest  virtue.  It  is  as  kindly,  and  affectionate,  and  good,  as 
wit  is  sarcastic,  and  cynical,  and  bitter.  Nor  are  these  circum 
stances  at  all  extraordinary :  for  humor  is  nothing  more  than 
the  gay  and  cheerful  outflow  of  that  genial  sympathy  with  the 
character  of  humanity,  and  the  course  of  nature,  which,  when  it 
acts  creatively,  gives  into  life  the  noblest  conceptions  of  art ; 
when  it  proceeds  reflectively,  evinces  all  the  power  of  practical 
reason ;  and  when  it  indulges  its  instincts  in  moral  and  social 
speculation,  is  one  with  love  and  truth.  We  challenge  any  man 
to  go  through  the  writings  of  Sydney  Smith — where  he  will 
find  more  right  feeling,  common  sense,  and  useful  reflection, 
than  in  any  hundred  grave  writers, — and  say  that  we  have  spoken 
too  highly  of  that  which  seems  to  be  the  source,  support,  and 
strength,  of  all  his  excellence. 

Humor  was,  in  truth,  the  guardian  spirit  of  Sydney  Smith. 
He  was  a  whig ;  but  with  none  of  "  the  virulence  and  male 
volence  of  his  party."  He  was  a  low-churchman ;  but  he  felt 


154  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [JETAT.  29. 

too  practically  to  lend  his  aid  to  subvert  a  church  system  which, 
created  by  experience,  finds  its  justification  in  the  ordinary 
workings  of  men's  thoughts  and  tempers.  He  was  a  theorist, 
an  "  economist,  and  a  calculator ;"  but  the  healthful  affinity  of 
his  feelings  for  the  truth  of  the  actual  and  real,  kept  him  safe 
from  the  perversion  and  hardness  of  that  poor  profession.  We 
love  Sydney  Smith :  n-ay,  we  doubt  whether  any  man  can  read 
the  fragment  on  the  Irish  Church,  with  which  this  volume  con 
cludes,  without  feeling  for  the  author  of  it  a  respect  partaking 
of  veneration.  He  was  a  sound,  and  honest,  and  sincere  man  ; 
and  labored  with  a  gay  heart,  but  a  steady  purpose,  for  the  ad 
vancement  of  those  interests  which  he  deemed  important  to  his 
fellows.  He  saw  what  was  true ;  he  admired  what  was  beau 
tiful;  he  followed  what  was  good.  The  merit  of  him  who 
employs  his  energies  in  correcting  "the  little,  nameless,  unre- 
membered"  faults  and  wrongs  of  society,  addresses  itself  to  our 
sympathies,  as  far  more  genuine  and  respectable,  than  that  of 
him  whose  sounding  efforts  are  directed  to  the  emancipation 
of  races,  and  the  civilization  of  savage  continents.  A  philan 
thropist  of  the  reason,  and  not  of  the  imagination,  he  discovered 
the  illusions  of  virtue  as  shrewdly  as  he  laid  bare  the  impostures 
of  vice.  He  concerned  himself  with  those  matters  which  are 
nearest  and  most  constant,  and  least  observed  in  their  action, 
and  which,  on  those  accounts,  are  most  effective  in  their  influ 
ence  upon  rational  and  social  character.  The  self-deceptions 
of  a  specious  piety — the  excesses  of  fanaticism — the  errors  of  an 
irrational  and  vain  philanthropy — these  were  the  subjects  of  his 
critical  exposure,  not  more  than  the  removal  of  prejudice,  and 
the  abatement  of  social  abuses,  was  the  effort  of  his  amending 
hand. 

We  heartily  wish  that  there  were  more  sermons  of  modern 
times,  like  these  of  Sydney  Smith.  The  preachers  of  this  day 
display  an  utter  ignorance  of  the  constitution  of  that  human 
nature  which  it  is  their  duty,  first  to  know,  and  then  to  elevate. 
They  overlook  the  truth  that,  in  regard  to  sensitive  and  intelli 
gent  beings,  moral  suasion  must  ever  be  the  true  and  greatest 
engine  of  control  and  effect.  They  begin  by  insulting  the 


.  29.]  SYDNEY   SMITH'S  SERMONS.  155 

understanding,  which  they  propose  to  convince:  they  proceed 
by  wakening  and  exasperating  every  dormant  prejudice,  which 
they  ought  to  have  charmed  into  deep  repose :  and  they  end 
with  leaving  those  errors,  which  they  attack  by  so  mad  a 
strategy,  entrenched  in  pride,  and  fortified  by  passion.  Their 
theology  is  of  unimpeachable  orthodoxy ;  but  all  the  moisture 
of  human  sympathy  is  evaporated  out  of  it.  They  distinguish 
subtly  ;  they  argue  irresistibly  ;  they  fulminate  magnificently  ; 
but  they  never  condescend  to  attract,  allure,  and  win.  The 
consequence  is,  that  while  the  air  is  filled  with  the  strife  of 
tongues,  and  the  city  is  set  on  fire  with  the  rivalries  of  religions, 
that  celestial  presence  which  is  the  inner  soul  of  all  religion — 
that  spirit  which  "  vaunteth  not  itself,  is  not  puffed  up,  doth  not 
behave  itself  unseemly,  seeketh  not  her  own,  rejoiceth  not  in 
iniquity  but  rejoiceth  in  the  truth,  beareth  all  things,  hopeth 
all  things,  endureth  all  things" — has  fled  away  from  us  to  the 
mountains,  and  to  the  vallies,  and  to  the  ends  of  the  earth.  Far 
different  is  the  course  pursued  by  the  prebendary  of  St.  Paul's. 
He  sets  out  by  conciliating  all  our  sympathies,  and  lulling  all 
our  animosities  against  his  cause ;  he  goes  on  through  a  rich, 
delightful  course  of  moral  reflection,  till  at  last  he  has  made  all 
our  natural  tastes  and  inclinations  in  love  with  spiritual  truth. 
He  sets  up  a  practical  standard ;  he  brings  men  to  it  by  at 
tracting  their  feelings,  and  keeps  them  there  by  satisfying  their 
judgments.  To  the  honest  and  good  heart,  which,  like  Naaman, 
the  Syrian,  craves  some  indulgence  to  the  force  of  circumstances, 
and  the  necessities  of  its  position,  he  says,  with  the  indulgent 
wisdom  of  the  prophet,  "  Go  in  peace."  In  dealing  with  the 
sins  of  frailty  and  weakness,  he  ever  proscribes  the  fault  without 
condemning  the  person,  by  administering  exhortation,  not  re 
proof — "Go,  and  sin  no  more."  He  accomplishes  more  than 
others,  because  he  does  not  attempt  as  much. 


156  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^ETAT.  29. 

CRITICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  ESSAYS.     By  THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

MR.  CARLYLE'S  Essays  and  Reviewals,  of  which  this  is  the 
first  complete  publication,  appear  to  us  to  be  the  most  valuable 
and  agreeable  of  all  his  writings.  They  touch  a  great  variety 
of  important  topics,  are  well  and  carefully  considered,  and  are 
better  adapted  than  the  longer  and  formal  treatises  which  he 
has  of  late  produced,  to  the  particular  character  of  his  powers, 
which  we  take  to  be  critical  and  suggestive,  rather  than  con 
structive  and  systematic.  Mr.  Carlyle  has  been  variously  esti 
mated,  according  to  the  predispositions  of  those  who  have 
judged.  Excellence,  when  it  appears  in  a  novel  shape,  is  some 
times  estimated  below,  often  much  above,  its  merit;  rarely 
according  to  its  desert.  The  natural  eye,  we  know,  is  deceived 
as  to  the  distances  and  magnitudes  of  objects,  when  it  cannot 
compare  them  with  other  familiar  objects ;  and  the  mind  is  still 
more  prone  to  misconceive  the  proportions  of  those  things 
which  it  cannot  refer  to  some  wonted  form.  So  it  has  fared 
with  Mr.  Carlyle  :  he  has  been  unjustly  condemned,  and  he  has 
been  extravagantly  praised.  Not  that  we  think  he  has  been, 
upon  the  whole,  too  highly  estimated  by  any  class,  were  their 
applauses  somewhat  more  discriminating.  We  should  be  glad 
to  believe  that  there  were  any  persons,  amidst  the  mob  of  talkers 
about  Carlyle,  who  were  capable  of  valuing  to  excess  the  excel 
lencies  which  he  unquestionably  possesses.  His  peculiarities 
they  esteem  too  flatteringly;  his  greatness  they  scarcely  ap 
preciate  at  all.  For  ourselves,  we  cannot  give  him  the  rank  of  a 
first-rate  intellect ;  we  cannot  approve  his  writings  as  a  whole  ; 
but  we  admire  many  of  his  qualities  as  brilliant  and  admirable, 
and  we  think  him  possessed  of  some  capacities  which  are  as  rare 
as  they  are  excellent. 

One  of  the  most  striking  peculiarities  of  Mr.  Carlyle's  cha 
racter,  is  his  intolerance  of  cant  in  every  shape ;  whether  it  be 
the  traditionary  cant  of  moral  and  political  principle,  or  the 
cant  of  the  most  enlightened  opinion  of  the  time  ;  the  cant  of  the 
nation,  or  the  cant  of  a  noisy  sect ;  the  dogmatizing  cant  of  the 
age,  or  the  flippant  cant  of  the  hour.  Now,  undoubtedly,  an 


.  29.]  CARLYLE'S  ESSAYS.  157 

infinite  deal  of  sense  is  in  solution  with  all  these  kinds  of  cant, 
and  in  unsettling  or  dissipating  the  strength  or  weakness  of  any 
one  of  them,  the  defences  of  truth  in  its  fastnesses,  or  the  sup 
ports  of  truth  in  its  open  marches,  are  to  some  extent  enfeebled. 
Still  it  is  of  incalculable  value  to  every  reader  to  have  before 
him  an  example  of  a  writer  who  is  laboring  only  to  judge  sincere 
judgments ;  who  brings  the  conscience  of  his  intellect,  not  its 
prejudices  or  affections,  to  investigate  everything,  in  its  search 
after  truth.  The  influence  of  such  an  example  is  of  salutary 
moral  tone,  and  it  invigorates  and  strengthens  the  intellectual 
temper. 

Mr.  Carlyle  belongs,  undoubtedly,  to  the  skeptical  school : 
his  mind  is  naturally  fertile  of  "  obstinate  questionings"  of  every 
thing.  But  he  does  not  make  his  sword  his  worship ;  he  does 
not  mistake  the  method  for  the  end.  His  object  is  truth  and 
its  repose:  the  means  he  employs  are  skepticism  and  its  dis 
orders.  He  obviously  is  endeavoring  to  work  through  the  con 
fusions  of  opinion,  and  by  them,  to  a  higher  region  of  light  and 
peace.  Looking  beyond  the  excitement  and  bustle  which  occupy 
the  foreground  of  his  mind,  you  clearly  see  the  reposing  figures 
of  those  great  sentiments  and  sympathies  that  are  akin  to  the 
eternity  of  changeless  truth.  In  this  respect,  there  is  a  very 
agreeable  difference  between  himself  and  Mr.  Macauley.  The 
latter  seems  to  think  criticism,  not  progression,  to  be  the  chief 
end  and  final  cause  of  all  intellectual  effort.  Like  the  captain 
in  Farquhar,  to  him,  "  Fighting  for  fighting's  sake's  sufficient 
cause. "  Mr.  Carlyle  is  a  traveller  by  profession  :  he  is  a  fighter 
only  by  necessity.  He  carries  a  staff  as  well  as  a  sword,  and 
under  his  armor  is  the  scallop  shell  of  the  pilgrim :  he  attacks 
no  enemies  but  those  that  block  up  his  march  upon  the  high  road 
to  the  hilled  city,  which  he  sees  far  before  him  ;  and  if  he  lays 
about  him  manfully  at  times  with  his  blade,  it  is  only  to  occupy 
the  ground  with  his  advancing  steps. 

We  take  him  to  be  a  writer  whose  true  function  is,  not  to 
guide,  instruct,  or  satisfy,  but  to  rouse,  and  prompt,  and  stimu 
late.     A  strong  man  will  be  infinitely  the  better  for  reading 
him  ;  a  weak  one  might  possibly  be  injured.     His  writings  are 
U 


158  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [J3rAT.  29. 

like  a  glass  of  spirits  :  a  stout  man  can  work  better  and  steadier 
after  it ;  a  feeble  one  is  only  intoxicated.  There  is  a  fearless 
ness,  and  force,  and  fire  about  him,  from  which  a  noble  inspira 
tion  may  be  caught ;  but,  then,  there  must  be  vigor  and  head  to 
turn  that  inspiration  to  account.  There  is  an  ardor  about  him 
that  communicates  to  the  reader  the  flame  of  its  own  earnestness. 
We  come  from  him  refreshed,  and  stirred,  and  charged  with 
enthusiasm.  He  may  have  many  errors,  but  he  has  much  sense ; 
and  a  great  intellect,  when  it  goes  wrong,  benefits  us  more  than 
a  little  one  when  it  accidentally  goes  right.  The  faults  of 
genius  are  full  of  good. 


SKETCHES  OF  MODERN  LITERATURE,  AND  EMINENT  LITERARY  MEN  :  Being  a 
Gallery  of  Literary  Portraits.     By  GEORGE  GILFILLAN. 

THIS  production  is  all  light  and  no  shade.  It  is  not  the 
brilliance  of  a  starry  sky,  but  the  unmitigated  glare  of  a  gas 
chandelier.  It  has  not  the  fresh  odorousness  of  the  air  blowing 
over  rose-gardens,  but  the  oppressive  fragrance  of  a  close  and 
heated  room,  filled  with  flowers  of  the  tuberous  plant.  Hesiod's 
maxim,  that  the  half  is  more  than  the  whole,  is  as  true  in  litera 
ture  as  it  is  in  morals,  and  even  more  important  to  be  observed. 
On  opening  the  book,  we  are  saluted  with  a  shower  of  wit-arrows, 
which  occasion  some  little  alarm,  until,  like  Richard  in  his  inter 
view  with  Saladin  in  the  desert,  we  catch  one  or  two  of  them  in 
our  hand,  for  closer  inspection,  and  discover  that  they  have  no 
heads. — being  merely  light  bits  of  wood,  cut  and  painted  to  look 
like  arrows.  "We  have  no  respect  for  such  writers.  Such  a  style 
is  not  only  a  vice  in  taste,  but  it  argues  some  grievous  wants  in 
respect  both  of  intellectual  and  moral  greatness.  Those  lofty 
and  comprehensive  intelligences,  whose  mental  consciousness  is 
in  sympathy  with  the  great  spirit  of  truth,  reduce  the  elements 
of  thought  to  a  few  general  principles,  examine  and  judge  with 
an  apparent  uniformity  of  reflection,  and  seem  often  to  repeat 
themselves.  The  brilliant  point  of  view  of  every  object,  and 


JETAT.  29.]  GILFILLAX'S  LITERARY  PORTRAITS.  159 

of  every  side  of  every  object,  cannot  be  reached  but  by  one  who 
has  cut  loose  from  those  liens  which  consistency  lays  upon  all 
the  liege  men  of  truth ;  and  the  refracted  light  under  which  a 
thing  looks  brilliant,  is  so  opposite  to  the  plain  white  light  in 
which  it  is  seen  as  it  is,  that  a  love  of  point  and  glitter,  if  it  does 
not  begin  in  insensibility  to  truth,  will  almost  invariably  end  in 
leaving  a  man  in  that  condition.  There  was  a  great  deal  of 
psychological  profoundness  in  the  remark  of  Charles  Lamb  about 
Hazlitt,  of  whom  the  present  writer  has  frequently  reminded  us. 
Commending  him  one  day,  to  an  extent  that  called  forth  some 
expression  of  surprise  from  his  companion,  Lamb  added,  by  way 
of  gentle  qualification,  as  if  he  had  supposed  his  hearer  would 
have  taken  that  for  granted:  "It  is  true  the  man  does  not  know 
the  difference  between  right  and  wrong." 

We  never  love  to  condemn  anything  having  the  port  and 
countenance  of  a  book,  unless  it  be  morally  bad.  We  cannot 
charge  any  higher  crime  upon  Mr.  Gilfillan's  performance,  than 
being  worthless,  and  that,  as  the  modern  world  goes,  may,  per 
haps,  be  negatively  a  virtue.  A  judicious  prince,  says  Machia- 
velli,  will  from  time  to  time,  commit  acts  of  wanton  cruelty,  that 
his  subjects  may  appreciate  how  much  they  are  indebted  to  him 
for  not  being  constantly  wanton  and  cruel.  There  have  been, 
of  late  times,  so  many  pernicious  publications,  that  we  have  come 
to  consider  an  author  as  somewhat  commendable,  who  neither 
springs  a  mine  under  religion,  denies  the  first  principles  of  social 
and  political  order,  nor  melts  down  virtue  in  the  fire  of  the 
passions.  We  shall,  therefore,  decline  passing  any  sentence  on 
Mr.  Gilfillan,  considering  that  he  does  not  fall  within  that  class 
whose  discharge,  according  to  the  Edinburgh's  maxim,  is  the 
condemnation  of  the  judge.  We  shall  be  content  with  saying, 
that  the  best  thing  about  this  book,  is  the  articles  of  DeQuincey, 
the  soi  disant  opium  eater,  to  which  it  has  given  rise,  in  Tait's 
Edinburgh  Magazine. 


160  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^ETAT.  30. 

AN  AUTHOR'S  MIND.     A  BOOKFULL  OF  BOOKS,  OR  THIRTY  BOOKS  IN  ONE. 
Edited  by  MARTIN  FARQUHAR  TUPPER,  Esq.,  M.  A.,  <te. 

MR.  MARTIN  FARQUHAR  TUPPER  is  one  of  those  gentlemen 
of  acknowledged  genius,  and  sovereign  popularity,  whose  merits, 
however,  we  have  never  been  able  to  discover.  If  oddity  were 
always  originality,  if  quaintncss  and  beauty  were  synonymous, 
if  paradox  were  necessarily  wisdom,  we  should  be  ready  to  grant 
that  Mr.  Tupper  is  a  wise,  beautiful  and  original  thinker.  But 
thought,  after  all,  is  an  affair  of  mind,  and  though  a  man  of 
genius  may  write  what  is  far  more  brilliant  than  common  sense 
ever  is,  yet  no  man  can  utter  valuable  truths  on  moral  and  pru 
dential  subjects,  unless  he  possesses  a  vigorous  and  powerful 
understanding.  Now  Mr.  Tupper's  art  consists  in  contriving, 
not  thoughts,  but  things  that  look  like  thoughts ;  fancies,  in  imi 
tation  of  truths.  The  " Proverbial  Philosophy,"  in  fact,  appears 
to  us  to  be  one  of  the  most  curious  impostures  we  have  ever  met 
with.  When  you  first  read  one  of  the  aphorisms,  it  strikes  you 
as  a  sentiment  of  extraordinary  wisdom.  But  look  more  closely 
at  it ;  try  to  apply  it ;  and  you  will  find  that  it  is  merely  a  trick 
of  words.  What  flashed  upon  you  as  a  profound  distinction  in 
morals,  turns  out  to  be  nothing  but  a  verbal  antithesis.  What 
was  paraded,  as  a  kind  of  transcendental  analogy  between  things 
not  before  suspected  of  resemblance,  discovered  by  the  "spiritual 
insight"  of  the  moral  seer,  is  in  fact  no  more  than  a  grave 
clench, — a  solemn  quibble, — a  conceit  arising  not  from  the  per 
fection  of  mind,  but  the  imperfection  of  language.  Those  con 
ceptions,  fabricated  by  Fancy  out  of  the  materials  that  Fancy 
deals  in,  and  colored  by  the  ray  of  a  poetic  sentiment,  bear  the 
same  relation  to  truths,  that  the  prismatic  hue's  of  the  spray  of 
a  fountain  in  the  sunshine  bear  to  the  gems  which  they  perhaps 
outshine.  It  dazzles  and  delights,  but  if  we  try  to  apprehend 
it  we  become  bewildered ;  and  finally  discover  that  we  were  de 
ceived  by  a  brilliant  phantom  of  air.  You  may  admire  Mr. 
Tupper  ;  you  may  enjoy  him;  but  you  cannot  understand  him: 
the  staple  of  his  sentences  is  not  stuff  of  the  understanding. 
Take  one  of  Mr.  Tupper's  and  one  of  Lord  Bacon's  aphorisms. 


-&TAT.  30.]  MARTIN  FARQUHAR  TUPPER.  Igl 

They  flash  with  an  equal  bravery.  But  try  them  upon  the 
glassy  surface  of  life.  Bacon's  cuts  it  as  if  it  were  air :  Tupper's 
turns  into  a  little  drop  of  dirty  water.  One  was  a  diamond, 
the  other  but  an  icicle ;  one  was  the  commonest  liquor,  artifi 
cially  refrigerated ;  the  other  was  a  crystal  in  form,  but  in  its 
substance  the  pure  carbon  of  truth.  If  these  bright  delusions 
which  Mr.  Tapper  turns  out  to  the  wonder  and  praise  of  his 
admirers,  were  really  thoughts,  is  it  to  be  supposed  that  he 
could  go  on  in  this  way,  stringing  them  together,  or  evolving 
one  out  of  the  other,  as  a  spider  weaves  its  unending  line,  or  as 
a  boy  blows  soap  bubbles  from  the  nose  of  a  tobacco  pipe  ? 
Fancies,  conceits,  intellectual  phantoms,  may  be  engendered  out 
of  the  mind,  brooding  in  self-creation  upon  its  own  suggestions : 
but  truth  is  to  be  mined  from  Nature,  to  be  wrung  from  expe 
rience,  to  be  seized  as  the  victor's  trophy  on  the  battle-field 
of  action  and  suffering.  The  flowers  of  poetry  may  bud  spon 
taneously  around  the  meditative  spirit  of  genius,  but  the  harvest 
of  Truth,  though  to  be  reaped  by  mind,  must  grow  out  of 
Reality. 

Having  thus  signalized  our  incapacity  to  appreciate  the  value 
of  Mr.  Tupper's  productions,  we  need  hardly  be  at  the  trouble 
of  expressing  our  opinions  of  the  particular  work  now  before 
us,  as  all  who  admire  the  author  would  at  once  challenge  us  as 
incompetent  to  criticise  it.  To  those  who  value  Mr.  Tupper, 
we  can  say  with  an  honest  conscience,  that  we  think  this  volume 
quite  equal  to  any  that  have  gone  before  it,  from  the  same 
quarter.  Though  we  cannot  discover  what  relation  these  "title- 
pages"  bear  to  common  sense,  we  have  no  doubt  of  their  being 
equally  valuable  with  the  Proverbs  ;  and  though  we  have  tried 
in  vain  to  divine  the  motive  of  the  author,  in  this  "bookfull  of 
books,"  we  are  satisfied  that  the  purpose  of  the  volume  is  quite 
as  rational  as  that  of  any  previous  production  of  this  singular 
writer. 

14* 


162  LITERARY    CRITICISMS.  [JSxAT.  29. 

RUBIO'S   RAMBLES  IN    THE   UNITED   STATES,   AND  IN   CANADA,   during  the 
Summer  of  1845. 

THIS  work  is  one  of  those  ill-advised  productions  of  a  bigoted, 
self-sufficient  individual,  who,  having  formed  in  his  own  obscure 
and  circumscribed  sphere,  opinions  of  perfection,  founded  upon 
the  satisfaction  of  his  personal  wants  and  conveniences,  ridicules 
when  only  glanced  at,  and  abuses  when  participated  in  by  him 
self,  every  custom  differing,  in  the  minutest  particular,  from  his 
self-created  standard  of  excellence. 

Ilubio  is  a  man  who  would  condemn  a  whole  nation  because 
he  found  tough  beef-steaks  in  the  country,  and  because  dinners 
were  not  served  up  after  the  "manner  at  home."  How  unfor 
tunate  it  has  been  for  the  kindlier  sentiments  existing  between 
this  country  and  Great  Britain,  that  men  like  Hamilton,  Dickens 
and  this  author,  should  come  here,  and,  because  the  English 
language  is  spoken,  refuse  to  us  the  courtesies  that  are  never 
withheld  to  any  nation  differing  from  them  in  that  respect  I  The 
foundation  of  half  the  abuse  and  misrepresentation  manifested 
towards  us,  arises  from  the  absurd  first  principle  of  the  majority 
of  visitors  to  this  country  from  England ;  they  have  the  pre 
sumption  to  assume  us  to  be  English,  and  then  to  judge  us  by 
their  own  self-created  standards  of  excellence,  rating  us  soundly 
for  every  circumstance  in  which  we  differ  from  them.  This  is 
not  the  manner  in  which  a  philosophical  mind  would  view  us, 
or  our  institutions :  we  are  as  much  a  foreign  nation  towards 
England,  as  is  France,  or  Germany :  separated  from  Great 
Britain  for  seventy  years,  our  manners  and  customs  do  not  differ 
so  much  from  theirs,  as  their  own  vary  in  the  present  time  from 
what  they  were  then.  Thus  we  have  individuals  arriving  in 
New  York,  without  letters  of  introduction,  without  knowledge 
of  localities — without  even  consulting  a  fellow-passenger — plung 
ing,  at  once,  like  this  book-maker,  into  a  cheap  boarding-house — 
where  they  find  breakfast  at  six  o'clock  !  and  dinner  at  twelve ! 
and  their  opinions  of  the  manners  and  customs  of  our  country 
are  founded  upon  this  sage  experience.  This  first  friendly  im 
pression  is  vented  by  Rubio  in  the  following  ludicrous  attempt : 


.  20.]  KAMBLES  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES.  163 

"  The  Americans  are  truly  a  vulgar,  ignorant,  bragging,  spitting,  melancholy, 
sickly  people.  Passing  their  lives  in  a  high  state  of  mental  excitement,  some 
kill  themselves  with  drink,  and  some  with  tobacco;  some  are  hurried  to  the 
ever  yawning  gates  of  their  cemeteries  by  excesses  in  religion,  or  excesses  in 
politics,  excesses  in  commerce  or  excesses  in  speculation,  or  tribulation  of  mind 
induced  by  a  combination  of  these  causes.  But  calamity  is  not  of  very  long 
life  in  America,  for  the  men  are  soon  dead,  and  soon  forgotten.  Duels  and 
assassinations  also  help  to  thin  their  ranks ;  for  strange  as  it  may  appear,  it  can 
be  proved  that  famous  as  Italy,  Sicily,  and  Spain,  are  for  the  stiletto,  there 
are  many  more  assassinations  and  stabbings  in  the  slave  States  of  America, 
than  in  all  those  countries  put  together.  This  is  a  melancholy  truth ;  but,  as 
the  minds  of  the  masters  in  the  Southern  States  insensibly  become  degraded 
by  the  mere  contact,  not  to  say  association,  with  beings  so  degraded  as  their 
slaves,  the  moral  sense  becomes  blunted,  they  care  little  for  assassination  or 
for  murder,  and  nothing  for  stabbing  and  maiming." 

Thus  we  see  a  man  forming,  ad  captandum,  such  opinions  of 
a  nation,  on  his  first  arrival  in  the  country — seeking  only  to 
confirm  the  unjust  and  injurious  sentiments  he  has  conceived  of  a 
whole  people  unknown  to  him,  and  from  whom  he  afterwards 
says  he  had  "  received  constant  civilities ;"  putting  his  prejudices 
and  calumnies  in  print,  to  insult  and  goad  a  country  naturally 
and  proudly  sensitive,  where  every  man  becomes  an  active  par 
ticipator  in,  and  guardian  of,  the  government  of  the  land. 

Rubio — whom  we  take  to  be  some  growling,  half-pay  British 
officer,  of  fifty  or  sixty  years  of  age — misses,  undoubtedly,  in 
country  hotels,  the  "mess  table"  of  his  regiment;  and  founds 
much  of  his  indignation  against  us  upon  our  barbarous  toleration 
of  bad  cooks.  He  says  the  "  castor  department"  of  our  tables 
is  "  the  filthiest  compound  of  nastiness  that  was  ever  exhibited 
to  the  disgust  of  an  Englishman" — that  he  was  constantly  dis 
gusted  by  persons  jumping  up  from  the  table  before  a  decent 
man  could  eat  one  plateful  of  his  meat,  and  in  truth,  all  the 
worst  habits  of  the  less  particular  portions  of  the  people  are 
exaggerated  to  the  veriest  absurdity,  and  fixed  upon  all  grades 
of  society  as  the  universal  customs  of  the  nation,  and  one  unjust, 
false,  sweeping,  and  virulent  condemnation  is  the  result.  Our 
readers  will  not,  we  hope,  suppose  that  we  intend  to  flatter  the 
faults  or  foibles  of  our  countrymen  ;  we  know  that  no  people  on 
earth  are  without  them ;  but  we  do  place  our  stamp  of  utter 


164  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  24. 

disapprobation  upon  the  individual  of  any  nation  who  prostitutes 
his  pen  to  the  base  and  degraded  purpose  of  fostering  injustice 
and  prejudice  by  a  sweeping  and  false  condemnation  of  a  whole 
people.  In  this  instance  even  the  apology  of  ignorance  and 
misinformation,  can  plead  no  excuse  for  the  writer — for  every 
man,  however  much  he  may  be  capable  of  a  malignant  action, 
is  quite  aware  of  the  vileness  and  infamy  of  the  act  he  per 
petrates. 

We  are  not  pleased  at  the  re-publication  of  these  works ;  they 
fester  wounds  that  should  be  permitted  to  heal,  and  sow  dissen 
sions  between  nations  that  should  be  friends.  At  the  same  time 
that  we  make  this  remark,  we  cannot  but  express  an  earnest  hope 
that  we  may  live  to  see  the  day  when  Americans  shall  mentally 
acknowledge  a  conscientious  standard  of  their  own,  and  learn  to 
treat  with  laughter  and  contempt,  the  petty  attacks  made  through 
ignorance  or  envy  of  our  institutions,  and  fear  at  our  increasing 
power  and  commanding  position. 


UNDINE:  A  ROMANCE.    By  the  Baron  DE  LA  MOTTE  FOUQTJE. 

[THE  "wild,  graceful,  and  touching  Undine,"  to  use  the  felicitous  epithets 
of  Mrs.  Austen,  has  had  the  good  fortune  to  unite  the  applauses  of  several  of 
the  finest  and  most  fastidious  judges  of  high  excellence  in  Art,  that  England 
and  Germany  have  produced.  "  It  will  always  continue,"  says  Menzel,  "  one 
of  the  most  delightful  creations  of  German  poetry."  "If  you  would  have  a 
good  opinion  of  Fouque","  said  Goethe,  "read  his  Undine,  which  is  really  a 
most  charming  story."  "Undine/'  said  the  late  S.  T.  Coleridge,  "is  a  most 
exquisite  work.  It  shows  the  general  want  of  any  sense  for  the  fine  and  the 
subtle  in  the  public  taste,  that  this  romance  made  no  deep  impression.  Un 
dine's  character  before  she  receives  a  soul,  is  marvellously  beautiful."  "Mr. 
Coleridge's  admiration  of  this  little  romance,"  adds  his  nephew  Henry  Nelson, 
"  was  unbounded.  He  read  it  several  times  in  German,  and  once  in  the  English 
translation.  He  said  there  was  something  in  Undine  oven  beyond  Scott; — that 
Scott's  best  characters  and  conceptions  were  composed,  by  which  I  understood 
him  to  mean  that  Baillie  Nicol  Jarvie,  for  example,  was  made  up  of  odd  par 
ticulars,  and  received  its  individuality  from  the  author's  power  of  fusion,  being 
in  the  result  an  admirable  product,  as  Corinthian  brass  was  said  to  be  the 
conflux  of  the  spoils  of  a  city.  But  Undine,  he  said,  was  one  and  single  in 
projection,  and  had  presented  to  his  imagination,  what  Scott  had  never  clone, 


.  24.]  UNDINE.  165 

an  absolutely  new  idea."  Sir  Walter  himself  has  also  expressed  his  hearty 
admiration  of  the  work.  "  FouquS's  Undine  or  Naide,"  said  he,  "  is  ravishing. 
The  suffering  of  the  heroine  is  real,  though  it  is  the  suffering  of  a  fantastic 
being." 

The  author  of  this  work,  Friedrich,  Baron  de  la  Motte  Fouque",  was  born  at 
New  Brandenburg,  February  12th,  1777.  His  grandfather,  a  Protestant,  and 
belonging  to  one  of  the  most  ancient  families  of  Normandy,  took  refuge  at  the 
Hague  upon  the  revocation  of  the  edict  of  Nantes.  Henry  Augustus,  Baron  de  la 
Motte  Fouque",  so  distinguished  for  his  military  bravery  and  skill  during  the 
v/ars  of  Frederic  the  Great,  and  whose  correspondence  with  Frederic  is  con 
tained  in  the  first  volume  of  the  works  of  that  monarch,  was  the  uncle  of  the 
subject  of  this  notice,  who  published  his  life  at  Berlin,  in  1825.  A  Protestant, 
and  the  descendant  of  Protestants,  the  character  of  the  author  of  Undine 
seemed  to  embody  a  complete  reaction  against  all  that  was  revolutionary  and 
progressive  in  social  and  political  feeling.  Doubtful  of  the  result  at  which  the 
troubled  stream  of  modern  civility  was  likely  to  arrive,  his  sympathies  started 
back  to  the  shadows  of  its  source,  and  sought  in  a  dreamy  revival  of  the  senti 
ments  and  fancies  of  the  middle  ages,  at  once  the  antagonist  and  the  substitute 
of  modern  passion.  His  career  seems  to  have  realized  in  a  remarkable  degree, 
that  ideal  life  with  which  he  loved  to  invest  his  imagination ;  and  to  have 
illustrated  that  union  of  daring  energy  and  active  valor  with  refined  emotions 
and  high  intellectual  culture,  which  is  popularly  associated  with  the  old  knights 
of  romance.  He  served  as  lieutenant  in  the  Prussian  horseguards  against  the 
French  in  the  campaigns  on  the  Rhine  in  1794  and  1795.  After  this,  he  spent 
many  years  in  literary  retirement,  engaged  in  study,  and  in  the  composition 
of  a  great  variety  of  romances,  and  tales,  and  poems.  In  1813,  when  Prussia 
rose  as  one  man  against  Napoleon,  in  the  rage  of  the  justest  retribution  that 
ever  yet  trampled  the  destroyer  to  the  earth,  Fouque"  again  entered  the  service; 
but  in  his  mind,  even  the  enthusiasm  that  urged  the  charges  of  Liitzen  and 
Leipzig  seems  to  have  been  animated  rather  by  visions  of  long-past  national 
ideas  which  to  his  eye  were  mingling  in  the  contest,  than  by  the  passions  and 
interests  of  the  passing  hour.  He  entered  the  army  as  a  captain,  and  had  at 
tained  the  rank  of  major,  when  he  retired  at  the  close  of  the  campaign.  The 
remainder  of  his  life  was  past  at  or  near  Berlin  in  the  quiet  of  literary  occu 
pation.  Among  other  honors,  he  was  a  Knight  of  the  Order  of  St.  John.  He 
enjoyed  the  cordial  and  intimate  friendship  of  the  present  king  of  Prussia.  He 
died  at  Berlin,  on  the  23d  of  January,  1843.  He  was  thrice  married,  and  left 
a  daughter  and  two  sons. 

In  Germany,  where  the  vintages  of  wit  are  as  sedulously  discriminated  and 
labelled  as  those  of  wine,  FonquS's  writings  are  referred  to  the  school  of  Ro 
manticism, — a  class  who  sought  to  revive  in  their  writings  the  mysticism  of 
aboriginal  fiction,  to  restore  the  picturesque  manners  of  feudal  times,  and  call 
again  to  the  scene  of  art  the  shadowy  forms  of  northern  mythology.  But  of  all 
this  school,  Fouque"  is  the  only  one  who  has  succeeded  in  bringing  up  this 
local  and  temporary  feeling  to  the  level  of  European  intelligence  and  taste; 
and  that,  indeed,  only  in  Undine :  for  while  Tieck,  Herder  and  Novalis  never 


166  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [JETAT.  24. 

became  even  national,  this  fine  and  graceful  creation  of  Fouque  has  excited  the 
warm  and  abiding  admiration  of  the  first  minds  in  England  and  America.  It  has 
been  translated  into  almost  every  European  language,  and  a  version  has  even  been 
made  in  Russian  hexameters.  "  The  Hero  of  the  North,"  a  dramatic  trilogy,  con 
sisting  of  •'  Sigurd  the  Serpent-Killer,"  "  Sigurd's  Revenge,"  and  "Aslauga,"  and 
founded  on  an  ancient  Scandinavian  legend,  is  one  of  the  most  elaborate  of  his 
re-constructions.  "  The  Magic  Ring"  is  a  tale  of  feudal  adventures  mixed  up 
with  enchantment,  contrived  with  singular  complication  and  skill.  "  Sintram 
and  his  Companions"  is  a  tale  of  higher  power,  and  of  a  more  earnest  simplicity 
and  concentration.  He  has  written  a  number  of  other  tales,  distinguished  for 
similar  characteristics  of  high-wrought  fancy,  solemn  enthusiasm,  and  pic 
turesque  brilliance.  Among  his  poetical  works,  one  on  occasion  of  the  murder 
of  Kotzebue  by  George  Sand,  and  another  on  the  death  of  Major  Von  Roder, 
who  fell  at  Culm,  and  others  referring  to  incidents  during  the  war,  have  been 
admired  for  their  fervor  and  boldness.  His  select  works,  in  twelve  volumes, 
with  his  last  corrections,  were  published  in  the  year  1811,  under  his  own 
superintendence  at  Halle. — ED.] 


Fairest  among  the  forms  that  come  smiling  towards  us  as  we 
enter  the  garden  of  literature,  is  Undine,  the  Water-Nymph. 
Grace  is  in  all  her  motions,  and  in  her  aspect  are  celestial 
witcheries.  Pure  as  dew,  and  soft  as  a  gush  of  distant  music, — 
gentle  as  a  star  beaming  through  the  riven  clouds, — with  mys 
tery  of  charms,  she  comes  near  to  us,  and  melts  down  our  admi 
ration  into  love  ;  but  when  we  would  take  her  to  us  as  something 
familiar  and  delicious,  she  floats  away  to  the  far  heights  of  Fame, 
and  looks  down  on  our  despair  with  countenance  of  pearl-like 
lustre,  and  smile  as  sweet  as  Spring.  Divine  in  its  essence, 
eternal  through  beauty,  this  marvellous  effluence  of  genius, — 
perfect,  without  precedent  and  beyond  pursuit, — has  taken  its 
place  among  the  perpetuities  of  Art,  one  of  the  contributions 
which  the  mind  of  man  has  made  to  the  enduring  things 
of  life. 

If  we  were  asked  to  select,  at  once  for  comparison  and  con 
trast  with  some  bright  work  of  Grecian  art,  a  specimen  of 
Romantic  composition,  which,  while  it  illustrated  even  to  ex 
treme  all  the  quaint  and  wild  peculiarities  of  the  Teutonic  style, 
should  vindicate  its  inherent  truth  and  justness,  our  choice  would 
probably  fall  upon  this  beautiful  production.  The  stuff  out 
of  which  the  tale  is  wrought  is  thoroughly  Gothic;  nay,  the 


.  24.  ]  UNDINE.  167 

whole  material — thought,  feeling,  fancy, — is  very  German  of  the 
Germans.  Yet  the  execution  of  the  work  is  so  simple — so  clear 
of  every  national  or  local  refraction  of  taste,  of  all  conven 
tionalisms  of  tone,  and  mannerisms  of  impression — so  pervaded 
by  the  breadth,  sincerity  and  directness  of  genuine  excellence — 
that  in  so  delightful  a  result,  Pericles  himself  might  tolerate  the 
miracle  of  modern  art.  If  the  classic  gem  paled  even  the  lights 
of  Nature  by  the  intense  and  single  ray  of  its  far  perfection,  the 
modern  picture  would  be  found  to  display  a  variety  of  forms,  a 
versatility  of  effects,  and  a  richness  of  hue,  to  which  the  narrow 
faultlessness  of  its  rival  would  be  a  stranger.  Opposite  in  cha 
racter,  yet  equal  in  impression,  the  master-works  of  the  two 
schools  might  stand  over  one  against  the  other,  like  the  two 
gates  of  the  day  of  European  civility ;  one  gleaming  with  the 
clear,  cold  holiness  of  the  pale  and  starry  morning ;  the  other 
a-glow  with  all  the  fiery,  tumultuous  tints  of  a  gorgeous  sunset. 
In  scenic  attitude,  with  marble  grace,  in  statuesque  distinctness, 
the  offspring  of  the  Grecian  mind  stands  solitary  and  unsynipa- 
thizing,  conscious  of  sovereignty.  The  child  of  the  Gothic  soul, 
warm  with  the  life  of  passion,  and  blushing  with  its  tenderest 
hues,  flies  to  our  kindled  bosom  and  seems  to  become  a  portion 
of  ourselves.  Majestic,  unconciliating,  unresistible,  the  one 
compels  our  homage ;  the  dazzle  and  turbulence  of  the  other's 
charms  captivate  our  fancy  before  reason  can  act,  and  our 
judgment  is  floated  away  upon  a  tide  of  feelings.  That  is  a 
stainless  virgin,  whose  sanctity  of  chasteness  reproves  the  admi 
ration  which  it  raises,  and  refuses  to  be  approved  except  by 
principle :  this,  soft  and  condescending,  fascinates  even  where  it  is 
frailest,  and  for  every  fault  it  shows,  we  have  more  than  a  weak 
ness.  If  our  duty  is  to  the  one,  our  delight  is  with  the  other. 

In  the  compass  of  continental  literature,  we  do  not  remember 
an  instance  where,  by  so  slight  a  design,  an  effect  so  definite, 
complete  and  strong  is  brought  out,  or  where,  in  so  small  a  com 
pass,  such  profusion  of  gifts — such  lavish  wealth  of  powers, — is 
displayed,  as  in  this  curious  and  exquisite  work.  Invention, 
poetry,  humor,  wit,  truth,  terror, — the  wild,  the  weird,— the  gay, 
the  graceful  and  the  grand — are  blent  together  with  the  inter- 


108  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [JETAT.  24. 

fusion,  yet  distinctness  and  harmony,  of  the  colors  of  a  forest  in 
autumn.  Most  of  the  finest,  and  some  of  the  highest  capacities 
which  the  exigencies  of  Art  can  call  for,  here  come  into  play: 
a  fancy,  at  once  delicate  and  imperious, — which  at  one  moment 
sports  with  frolic  graces  and,  in  the  next,  can  accumulate  all  the 
clouds  of  wonder, — which,  in  dealing  with  the  terrible,  knows 
how  to  exclude  the  disgusting :  sentiment,  deep,  soft,  and 
brilliant  as  the  dye  of  the  rose-leaf:  the  feeling  wisdom  of  a 
heart  schooled  in  the  stern  love  of  suffering  and  disappointment : 
a  pathos,  pure,  true,  not  always  saved  from  pain :  the  energy 
of  thought  and  the  fire  of  passion.  If  some  fantastic  quip  of 
humor  suggests  to  us  that  we  toy  with  a  plaything,  instantly  a 
thrill  of  awe  makes  us  feel  that  we  are  under  the  mastery  of  a  po 
tent  magician.  We  raise  our  eyes  from  tracing  a  merry  gambol 
at  our  feet,  and  behold  !  from  the  summit  of  some  grand  image  of 
the  mind,  shapes  of  terror  and  mystery  are  looking  down  upon  us. 
The  comparison  of  the  Knight,  by  Undine,  to  the  summer,  which 
"amidst  the  highest  splendor,  puts  on  the  flaming  and  thundering 
crown  of  glorious  tempests,"  has  the  sublimity  of  Milton.  The 
author  possesses  in  an  eminent  degree  that  eye  of  composition — 
that  power  of  grouping  several  figures  in  the  wholeness  of  a 
single  impression,  which  makes  the  narrative  expand  from  time 
to  time  into  tableaux  of  startling  vividness ;  a  faculty  which, 
though  not  one  of  the  highest  capacities  of  the  artist,  and  though 
often  existing  in  the  absence  of  most  other  valuable  qualities, 
yet,  when  judiciously  employed,  contributes  to  very  striking 
effects. 

It  must  not  be  supposed,  however,  that  these  differing  cha 
racteristics  are  thrown  together  in  a  jumble,  or  wrought  into  a 
grotesque  arrangement  which  produces  novelty  at  the  expense 
of  propriety,  and  surprises  without  imparting  any  rational 
pleasure.  In  the  mind  of  La  Motte  Fouque,  the  taste  for  the 
quaint  is  always  subordinate  to  the  love  of  the  beautiful,  and  in 
the  wildest  of  his  swallow-like  flights  he  ever  follows  the  line 
of  grace.  In  truth,  the  skill  with  which  the  varied  elements 
of  beauty  and  wonder  are  combined  and  made  harmonious  in  the 
completeness  of  a  splendid  poetical  creation,  is  not  less  extra- 


.  24.]  UNDINE.  ICQ 

ordinary  than  the  versatility  of  invention  by  which  such  materials 
were  contrived  and  brought  together. 

In  no  part  of  this  remarkable  work  is  that  instinctive  fineness 
of  contrivance,  which  always  attends  the  highest  genius,  more 
strikingly  shown  than  in  the  delicate  mastery  with  which  the 
natural  and  ideal  characters  are  assimilated  to  one  another,  and 
the  real  and  fabulous  portions  of  the  tale  so  fused,  as  it  were, 
together,  that,  without  losing  the  distinctness  of  their  several 
natures,  they  are  brought  uiider  the  unity  of  a  single  agency. 
The  different  parts  are  not  icrouglit  into  a  constrained  connection, 
but  cast,  by  the  creative  fire  of  imagination,  into  the  entireness 
of  a  homogenous  conception.  In  this  respect,  even  "  Shakspeare's 
magic,"  uncopyable  as  its  grace  and  boldness  may  have  been,  is 
somewhat  at  fault.  In  "  The  Tempest,"  the  visionary  essence  of 
Ariel  sorts  well  enough  with  the  high-thoughted,  passionate 
romance  of  Ferdinand  and  Miranda,  and  the  bizarre  humors  of 
Stephano  and  Trinculo  are  perhaps  sufficiently  in  tune  with  the 
grotesque  being  of  Caliban  ;  but  the  intrusion  of  the  quotidian  and 
familiar  characters  and  conversation  of  Gonzalo,  and  Sebastian, 
and  Antonio,  stops  the  circuit  of  enchantment,  and  breaks  the 
charm  of  art.  In  the  present  case,  the  effect  which  we  have 
alluded  to  seems  to  have  been  attained  by  bringing  the  super 
natural  characters,  on  the  one  hand,  as  near  to  humanity  as  could 
be  done  without  impairing  the  perfectness  of  their  own  peculiar 
being,  and,  on  the  other,  by  laying  the  real  persons  under  a 
species  of  enchantment, — involving  them  in  the  mazes  of  a 
strange  and  mournful  fate — which  makes  them  to  our  eye  well- 
nigh  as  weird  and  fearful  as  the  higher  and  more  mystic  agents 
of  the  tale.  This  bewitchment,  or  pervasive  and  overpowering 
influence  of  destiny,  is  felt  at  once  so  strongly  by  the  reader, 
that  the  author  has  not  been  at  the  pains  to  express  it.  The 
generous  and  impulsive  nature  of  Huldbrand  triumphs  over  it 
at  intervals  just  enough  to  give  expansion  and  variety  to  the 
action  which  is  to  work  out  the  sad  history  of  Undine.  Its 
existence  should  be  borne  in  mind  in  looking  at  the  character 
of  Bertalda,  which  without  such  reference  might  seem  to  lack 
the  full  proportions  of  womanly  passion ;  as  being,  in  the  cir- 
15 


170  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  24. 


cunfttances  of  her  position,  not  fierce  enough  to  be  feminine. 
This  important  assimilation  of  the  two  kinds  of  characters  that 
figure  on  the  story  is  aided  by  a  discreet  use  of  the  power  of 
illusion,  on  the  employment  of  which  the  fame  of  Mrs.  Rad- 
cliffe  is  founded.  Thus,  the  Knight,  at  his  first  entrance  upon 
the  scene,  is  invested,  through  the  terrors  of  the  fisherman,  with 
certain  supernatural  circumstances,  the  halo  of  which  does  not 
wholly  fade  for  us  to  the  very  end  of  the  story  ;  and  the 
old  fisherman  himself,  in  that  striking  scene  where  he  stretches 
his  arms  wide  over  the  current  and  nods  so  as  to  make  his  white 
hairs  fall  over  his  forehead,  seems  to  be  so  identified  with  the 
marvellous  inhabitants  of  the  forest,  that,  to  the  last,  in  our  feel 
ings,  he  occupies  a  half-way  position  between  men  and  spirits. 
Add  to  this  the  adoption  of  a  highly  poetic  style  of  language 
and  illustration,  which  of  itself  informs  the  natural  world  with  a 
degree  of  life  and  sentiment,  and  gently  raises  us  on  the  wings 
of  metaphor  into  the  region  of  spirit  ;  and  the  employment  of  a 
half-comic  and  mocking  tone  of  narrative  which  disarms  the  in 
credulity  of  the  reader,  and  causes  him  to  believe  all  by  making 
him  feel  that  he  need  not  believe  anything.  Of  these  effects  every 
reader  will  be  sensible,  and  it  will  be  the  pleasure  of  each  to 
analyze  them  according  to  his  skill  ;  but  for  a  single  illustration 
of  the  exquisite  preparation  by  which  the  specious  miracles  of 
the  author's  genius  are  introduced,  and  the  delicate  gradations 
of  power  by  which  fancy  leads  us  on,  from  the  familiar  delusions 
of  sentiment,  through  the  natural  magic  of  excited  passion,  till 
we  come  at  last  into  the  very  courts  of  the  marvellous  and  to  all 
the  revelry  of  fiction,  we  may  refer  to  the  opening  parts  of  the 
tale.  At  the  very  commencement,  the  leading  notion  of  the 
water  and  earth  being  animated  by  affections  and  moved  by  a 
human  spirit,  is  lodged  in  our  mind  by  merely  the  use  of  such 
figurative  language  as  forms  one  of  the  commonplaces  of  poetry  ; 
and  a  little  further  on,  the  image  of  a  snow-white  gigantic  man 
rising  out  of  the  water  is  familiarized  to  our  feelings  by  our  being 
given  to  understand,  on  its  first  appearance,  that  it  is  only  an 
illusion  of  the  fisherman's  terror,  —  "a  strange  mistake  into  which 
his  imagination  had  betrayed  him."  So,  too,  the  apparition  at 


.  24.]  UNDINE.  Ifl 

tlie  window  during  the  marriage  of  Undine,  which  contributes 
so  powerfully  to  the  interest  of  the  event,  has  been  foreshadowed, 
in  some  sort,  and  thereby  divested  of  its  first  horror  by  a  similar 
shape  :  having  been  made  to  pass  across  the  spectrum  of  the 
mind's  eye  of  the  shuddering  Knight,  as  Undine,  towards  the 
close  of  the  first  chapter,  begs  him  to  narrate  his  adventures  in 
the  forest ;  "  he  looked  towards  the  window,  for  it  seemed  to 
him,  that  one  of  the  strange  shapes,  which  had  come  upon  him 
in  the  forest,  must  be  there  grinning  in  through  the  glass  ;  but 
he  discerned  nothing."  These  considerations  might  by  some  be 
thought  trifling,  but  we  hesitate  not  to  express  our  conviction 
that  it  is  to  the  consummate  art  which  is  thus  displayed  in 
stealing  the  supernatural  characters  upon  the  scene  while  our 
attention  is  engaged  with  illusions,  and  darkening  the  air  with 
the  mists  of  rhetoric  while  they  mingle  in  the  action  of  the  piece 
unobserved,  that  the  success  of  this  work  is  mainly  to  be  at 
tributed,  and  that  to  the  neglect  of  such  methods  of  conciliating 
our  feelings  to  the  marvels  of  the  narrative  the  failure  of  so  many 
tales  of  enchantment,  in  which  there  has  been  no  deficiency  of 
power,  is  to  be  ascribed.  In  enterprises  of  every  sort,  the  dif 
ference  between  failure  and  success  usually  consists,  not  in  some 
great  matter,  for  that  might  easily  be  discovered  or  supplied, 
but  in  something  of  such  infinitesimal  littleness  that  it  often 
eludes  the  consciousness  of  the  creator  and  the  enquiries  of  the 
reader. 

But  the  triumph  of  the  author's  genius  in  this  rare  production 
—the  central  gem  among  many  gems — is  undoubtedly  the  cha 
racter  of  Undine.  A  child,  to  captivate  the  fancy, — a  woman, 
to  move  the  heart — a  spirit,  to  raise  and  awe  the  soul, — with 
enchanting  elegance  she  wears  the  drapery  of  a  triple  grace. 
Her  charms  might  fire  a  sage  ;  her  purity  might  recover  a  vol 
uptuary.  From  the  moment  when  we  first  hear  her  dashing 
water  against  the  window  of  the  hut,  till  we  behold  her  dissolv 
ing  into  tears  at  the  grave  of  her  lover,  her  beautiful  life  is  at 
unity  with  itself  and  in  sympathy  with  the  highest  delicacy  of 
female  excellence.  She  might  be  likened  to  a  rainbow  spanning 
a  troubled  sea, — which,  formed  of  water  and  sunbeams,  rises  from 


J72  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^!TAT.  24 

the  wave  in  soft  divinity  of  splendor,  and  mounting,  for  a  mo 
ment,  into  the  heavens,  and  diffusing  round  its  path  the  lustre 
of  peace,  and  joy,  and  hope,  sinks  again  in  the  billow  and 
leaves  the  darkened  scene  even  gloomier  than  before.  Her 
goodness,  her  loveliness,  the  sad  disappointment  of  her  gentle 
spirit,  touch  our  feelings,  irresistibly.  As  a  conception  of  art, 
her  character,  before  her  marriage,  has  the  freshness,  lofty  sim 
plicity,  and  tone,  of  one  of  Shakspeare's  women ;  afterwards,  the 
emotion  of  the  character  is  allowed  to  predominate  over  the 
character  and  subdue  it,  more  than  Shakespeare  would  have 
permitted.  If  any  defect  may  be  suggested  in  a  story  so  finely 
developed,  it  consists,  perhaps,  in  the  means  by  which  the  death 
of  the  Knight  is  accomplished, — a  scene  which  revolts  rather 
than  rends  the  heart,  and  mingles  a  sensation  of  horror  with  our 
feeling  towards  the  nymph.  We  should  have  wished,  at  least, 
to  have  it  shown  to  us  that  Undine  acted  under  some  irresistible 
compulsion,  to  do  what  was  not  an  instinct  of  her  nature,  but  an 
awful  necessity  of  her  position ;  but,  had  it  been  possible,  we 
would  have  preferred  that  the  death  of  the  lover  should  have 
been  accomplished  by  some  other  agency.  But  the  inducements, 
and,  so  far  forth,  the  justification,  of  this  irregularity  in  the  aesthetic 
harmony  of  the  piece,  are  moral  and  not  critical.  The  disturb 
ance  of  that  serenity  of  satisfaction  which  belongs  to  the  per 
fection  of  art,  has  been  caused  by  the  impetuous  force  of  the  in 
ner  and  informing  thought,  or  truth,  which  is  the  living  prin 
ciple  and  guiding  purpose  of  the  tale.  In  fact,  this  romance,  in 
its  just  intellectual  conception,  is  an  earnest  and  deep  spiritual 
myth.  It  is  a  narrative,  not  of  self-amusing  fancy,  but  of  alle 
gorizing  wisdom,  in  which  the  personages  and  their  relations  are 
symbolical  of  the  sympathies  and  destiny  of  the  human  soul. 
This  is  the  cause  of  the  profound  impression  which  this  little 
work  has  made  upon  the  greatest  minds.  The  celestial  life  which 
love  flashes  into  light  within  the  boundless  depths  of  our  being 
—the  immortal  wrongs  which  are  inseparable  from  love's  ex 
istence,  and  which  are  terrible  in  proportion  to  love's  intensity 
. — the  mad  resentments  and  the  blazing  ruin  that  are  engendered 
of  love,  as  the  red  lightning  from  the  heaven-born  warmth  of 


.  19.]  THE   ROSICRUSCIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  173 

the  summer  air — these  and  more  fatalities  that  make  up  the 
mournful  glories  of  passion,  are  illustrated  with  a  subtle  lore  in 
this  singular  production.  But  our  design  has  been  to  consider 
it  only  in  its  direct  and  external  character  as  a  creation  of  art, 
not  in  its  hidden  indications  as  a  philosophical  revelation,  and 
we,  therefore,  continue  in  another  paper  the  full  exposition  of 
the  enigmas  that  make  the  higher  interest  of  the  work.* 


THE   ROSICRUSCTAN   PHILOSOPHY. 
LE  COMTE  DE  GABALIS,  ou  Entretiens  sur  les  Sciences  Secretes.    Paris,  1670. 

WHEN  Pope,  in  It  12,  sent  forth  his  immortal  Rape  of  the 
Lock,  with  its  machinery  of  sylphs, — the  most  brilliant  work 
of  England's  most  faultless  poet — he  said  in  the  prefatory  letter 
to  Mrs.  Arabella  Fermor,  that  the  action  of  the  piece  was  raised 
"  on  a  very  new  and  odd  foundation,  the  Rosicruscian  doctrine 
of  Spirits ;"  and  that  he  had  derived  his  knowledge  of  these 
beings  from  a  French  book,  called  Le  Coirite  de  Gabalis.  This 
was  the  first  occasion  on  which  these  airy  creatures  ever  played 
a  part  in  any  work  of  fiction, — at  least  under  their  proper  names ; 
for,  according  to  the  infallible  authority  of  the  Count  de  Gabalis 
himself,  the  elves  and  fairies  of  the  middle  ages,  the  demons 
of  antiquity,  nay,  the  whole  company  of  heathen  gods  and  god 
desses,  were,  in  reality,  nothing  else  but  nymphs  and  sylphs. 
We  are  not  sure  whether  the  ingenious  and  candid  Mr.  Bowles 
included  Pope's  intrigue  with  the  sylphs  among  the  moral  de 
linquencies  of  the  poet,  but  it  is  very  certain  that  the  little  bard 
conferred  immortality  upon  them.  It  must  be  admitted,  how 
ever,  that  he  took  a  number  of  less  warrantable  liberties  with 
them ;  he  lowered  their  dignity,  changed  their  nature  in  some 

*  This  paper  is  unfortunately  not  found  among  the  author's  MSS.,  and  is 
probably  lost.  The  curious  bibliographical  essay  which  follows — remarkable, 
among  other  respects,  as  being  one  of  Mr.  Wallace's  earliest  productions,  written 
originally  at  college  in  his  19th  year — would  seem  to  indicate  that  tho  elements 
of  Fouque's  tale  are  derived  from  the  Rosicruscian  Philosophy. — ED. 
15* 


174  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^!TAT.  19. 

degree,  and  misrepresented  their  history.  Notwithstanding  the  un 
fading  lustre  which  the  various  art  and  animated  elegance  of  the 
copyist  threw  upon  the  subject,  he  spoilt  the  delicate  distinctness 
and  beauty  of  the  original  conception.  Previously  to  their  con 
nection  with  him,  they  had  been  spoken  of  by  Sir  William  Temple 
in  his  miscellanies  :  "  I  should  as  soon  fall,"  he  says,  "into  the 
study  of  the  Rosicruscian  philosophy,  and  expect  to  meet  a  nymph 
or  a  sylph  for  a  wife  or  a  mistress :"  which  is  said  to  be  the 
earliest  mention  that  is  made  of  these  matters  by  any  English 
writer.  Dry  den,  also,  in  writing  to  Mrs.  Thomas  in  1699,  says, 
"  Whether  sylph  or  nymph,  I  know  not ;  those  fine  creatures, 
as  your  author,  Count  Gabalis,  assures  us,  have  a  mind  to  be 
christened,  and  since  you  desire  a  name  from  me,  take  that  of 
Corinna,  if  you  please." 

This  French  work,  therefore,  appears  to  be  the  source  of  the 
knowledge  which  English  writers  have  acquired  of  these  vision 
ary  personages ;  and  although  Fouque  refers  to  Paracelsus  as 
the  primitive  and  papal  authority  in  modern  days,  on  all  ques 
tions  of  occult  philosophy,  yet  as  the  love  of  the  Cabala,  in 
this  particular,  is  presented  not  only  with  more  completeness 
but  with  far  greater  liveliness  and  grace,  by  the  French  author, 
we  shall  draw  from  him  in  preference  to  the  obscurer  fountains 
of  Bombastes's  wisdom.  As  the  book  alluded  to  is  very  little 
known, — being,  in  fact,  as  Mr.  Coleridge  used  to  say,  "  as  good 
as  manuscript" — we  cannot  bring  the  subject  before  our  readers 
in  any  better  or  more  agreeable  manner  than  by  giving  a  some 
what  detailed  account  of  this  dainty  performance.  The  work  is 
written  with  a  prodigious  deal  of  pleasantry  and  wit,  and  shows 
extraordinary  learning  and  ingenuity ;  so  much  in  fact  as  to 
leave  the  reader  still  doubting — notwithstanding  many  satirical 
touches,  and  the  mocking  tone  which  prevails  throughout,  and 
in  spite  too  of  the  author's  express  declaration  both  in  the  work 
and  in  a  letter  appended  to  it, — whether  he  was  not  really  to 
some  degree  a  believer  in  a  scheme  whose  rationality  and  con 
sistency  he  is  at  the  pains  to  vindicate  with  such  singular  and 
careful  ability.  Certainly  it  presents  not  only  the  most  beautiful, 
but  the  most  plausible  and  connected  system  of  spiritual  exist- 


19.]  THE  ROSICRUSCIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  175 

ences  that  has  ever  been  propounded.  Some  portions  of  the 
book  are,  however,  rather  more  free  than  would  be  quite  agreeable 
with  the  decorum  of  modern  manners. 

LE  COMTE  DE  GABAUS,  ou  Entretiens  sur  les  Sciences  Se 
cretes,  was  first  published  at  Paris  in  the  year  1610  (Barbou). 
The  edition  which  I  possess  is  that  of  Metz, — "  an  cinq  repub- 
licain," — which  answers  to  the  Christian  date,  1797.  It  has  no 
name  upon  the  title-page,  but  according  to  Barbier's  Dictionnaire 
des  Auteurs  Anonymes  et  Pseudonymes,  it  was  written  by  the 
Abbe  Montfau$on  de  Villars.  The  following  account  is  given 
of  it  in  Dargonne's  Melanges  d'Histoire  et  de  Litterature 
(Rotterdam,  1700)  :  "The  author  of  this  diverting  work  is  the 
Abbe  Villars,  who  came  from  Thoulouse  to  Paris,  to  make  his 
fortune  by  preaching.  The  five  dialogues  of  which  it  consists, 
are  the  result  of  those  gay  conversations  in  which  the  Abbe  was 
engaged  with  a  small  circle  of  men  of  fine  wit  and  humor  like 
himself.  When  this  book  first  appeared,  it  was  universally  read 
as  innocent  and  amusing.  But  at  length  its  consequences  were 
perceived,  and  reckoned  dangerous,  at  a  time  when  this  sort  of 
curiosities  began  to  gain  credit.  Our  devout  preacher  was  de 
nied  the  pulpit,  and  his  book  forbidden  to  be  read.  It  was  not 
clear  whether  the  author  intended  to  be  ironical,  or  spoke  all 
seriously.  The  second  volume,  which  he  promised,  would  have 
decided  the  question  ;  but  the  unfortunate  Abbe  was  soon  after 
wards  assassinated  by  ruffians  on  the  road  to  Lyons.  The 
laughers  gave  out  that  the  gnomes  and  sylphs,  disguised  as 
ruffians,  had  shot  him,  as  a  punishment  for  revealing  the  secrets 
of  the  Cabala." 

In  his  first  conversation,  the  Abbe  informs  us  that  he  had 
always  entertained  such  strong  doubts  of  the  soundness  of  what 
are  called  the  secret  sciences,  that  he  never  would  become  a  regular 
student  of  them :  at  the  same  time,  there  were  so  many  able  and 
eminent  persons,  men  distinguished  at  the  bar,  or  famous  for 
military  skill,  who  were  addicted  to  their  pursuit,  that  it  was  not 
reasonable  wholly  to  despise  them,  at  least  without  some  exami 
nation.  Accordingly,  to  satisfy  his  curiosity,  and  at  the  same 
time  avoid  the  fatigue  of  turning  over  a  whole  library  of  books,  he 


176  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [J3TAT.  19. 

resolved  to  frequent  the  society  and  seek  the  confidence  of  those 
who  were  devoted  to  cabalistic  learning,  and  draw  as  much  in 
formation  as  he  could  from  their  conversation.  For  this  pur 
pose  he  determined  to  assume  the  character  of  one  who  was 
already  a  proficient  in  these  sciences,  and  by  pretending  to  know 
all,  profit  by  the  communications  of  those  who  knew  something. 
This  plan  succeeded  beyond  his  expectations,  and  he  found  that 
his  reputation  soon  grew  high.  The  philosophers  whom  he  met 
had  a  sufficiently  lofty  opinion  of  their  own  proficiency,  but  he 
perceived  that  the  attention  of  all  those  with  whom  he  conversed 
was  fixed  with  great  interest  upon  a  certain  nobleman  of  dis 
tinguished  station  and  learning,  who  resided  in  Germany,  not  far 
from  the  borders  of  Poland.  The  sage  had  written  that  he 
should  soon  pay  a  visit  to  the  initiated  at  Paris,  on  his  way  to 
England,  and  our  Abbe  had  the  honor  to  be  commissioned  to  re 
ply  to  his  letter,  and  in  doing  so  took  occasion  to  enclose  his 
horoscope.  His  communication  produced  a  decided  impression 
upon  the  philosopher,  who  wrote  that  the  Abbe  should  be  one 
of  the  first  persons  he  should  call  upon  in  Paris,  and  if  the  stars 
did  not  oppose  it,  he  should  speedily  be  admitted  into  the  fra 
ternity  of  sages.  A  brisk  correspondence  ensued ;  the  nobleman's 
letters  revealed  extraordinary  and  magnificent  discoveries ;  and 
the  Abbe  found  that  he  was  dealing  with  a  gentleman  of  "  very 
lively  and  very  spacious  imagination."  One  day,  as  he  was  oc 
cupied  in  his  study  with  the  perusal  of  some  of  these  marvellous 
epistles,  a  man  of  stately  and  imposing  aspect  entered  the  room, 
and  saluting  him  after  a  very  sublime  and  odd  fashion,  presently 
let  him  know  that  he  was  his  correspodent,  the  Count  de  Gabalis. 
He  informed  him  that  the  horoscope  which  had  been  sent  to  him 
displayed  so  remarkable  an  adaptation  for  occult  science,  that 
there  was  no  doubt  the  Abbe  was  destined  to  become  a  most 
illustrious  philosopher,  and  that  the  hour  proper  for  his  regene 
ration  into  the  higher  life  of  wisdom  had  nearly  arrived.  The 
following  day  was  fixed  upon  for  another  interview,  and  after 
some  further  conversation,  the  Count  rose  to  take  his  departure. 
"  Watch,  pray,  hope,  and  do  not  talk,"  said  he,  and  with  these 


19.]  THE   ROSICRUSCIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  177 

words  he  descended  to  his  carriage,  leaving  our  author  in  doubt 
whether  his  visitor  was  a  madman,  an  impostor,  or  a  dupe. 

On  the  following  morning,  at  the  appointed  hour,  the  equip 
age  of  the  Count  was  at  the  door,  and  they  drove  out  to  Ruel, 
as  a  retired  and  unfrequented  place,  proper  for  the  mystical  com 
munications  which  the  noble  sage  was  about  to  impart.  On 
the  way,  the  Abbe  occupied  himself  with  studying  the  counte 
nance  and  character  of  his  singular  acquaintance.  It  was  a  face 
marked  by  an  expression  of  profound  satisfaction,  and  pervaded 
by  the  dignified  composure  and  serenity  of  one  whose  conscience 
was  free  from  every  stain,  and  whose  mind  dwelt  habitually  in 
the  contemplation  of  pure  and  lofty  truths.  His  conversation  on 
politics  and  literature  displayed  great  sagacity  and  thorough  in 
formation.  When  they  came  to  Ruel,  the  Count  disdained  to 
admire  the  beauties  of  the  garden,  and  marched  straight  to  the 
labyrinth.  After  some  high-flown  speeches  about  the  honor  and 
felicity  which  awaited  the  Abbe  in  the  initiation  which  was  soon 
to  take  place,  he  gravely  informed  his  pupil  that,  before  he  could 
be  admitted  into  the  society  of  sages,  it  was  necessary  that  he 
should  take  a  vow  of  perpetual  chastity.  The  Abbe  quickly  set 
the  mind  of  his  companion  at  rest  upon  this  particular  by  as 
suring  him  that  he  had  already,  long  since,  voluntarily  assumed 
the  discipline  of  monastic  purity,  and  had  never  yet  in  the  whole 
course  of  his  life  deviated  from  the  strictest  propriety  of  conduct. 
"  But,"  cries  the  Abbe,  "  as  Solomon,  who  was  a  much  wiser 
man  than  I  ever  expect  to  be,  was  not  able  with  all  his  wisdom, 
to  maintain  his  uprightness  in  this  particular,  suffer  me  to  en 
quire  by  what  methods  you  gentlemen  preserve  yourselves  from 
the  allurements  of  this  dangerous  sex ;  or  what  inconvenience 
would  follow  if  in  the  paradise  of  philosophers  every  Adam 
should  have  his  Eve?" 

"You  touch  upon  a  great  mystery  there,"  replied  the  Count, 
musing  within  himself  for  a  moment.  "  But  since  you  detach 
yourself  so  readily  from  women,  I  will  let  you  know  one  of  the 
reasons  why  the  sages  are  obliged  to  exact  this  condition  from 
their  followers,  and  you  will  then  perceive  how  profoundly  igno 
rant  are  all  those  who  are  not  of  our  number.  As  soon  as  you 


118  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^ETAT.  19. 

are  enrolled  among  the  sons  of  philosophy,  and  have  strengthened 
your  sight  with  the  sacred  applications  which  will  be  given  to 
you,  you  will  instantly  perceive  that  the  elements  are  inhabited 
by  creatures  of  the  most  absolute  perfection,  whom  the  sin  of  the 
unfortunate  Adam  has  prevented  his  too  unhappy  posterity  from 
knowing  and  having  communication  with.  This  vast  expanse 
between  the  earth  and  the  heavens  contains  inhabitants  of  higher 
dignity  than  birds  and  gnats ;  the  infinitude  of  ocean  was 
created  for  other  guests  than  dolphins  and  whales ;  the  depths 
of  the  earth  were  not  made  for  moles  alone ;  and  the  element 
of  fire,  more  elevated  than  the  other  three,  was  not  fashioned  in 
order  to  remain  void  and  useless. 

"  The  air  is  filled  by  a  countless  multitude  of  people,  of  human 
shape,  a  little  haughty  in  their  aspect,  but  very  gentle  in  reality  ; 
great  lovers  of  science,  subtle,  officious  to  sages,  but  enemies  of 
fools  and  ignorant  persons.  Their  daughters  and  wives  possess 
a  kind  of  mannish  beauty,  such  as  is  represented  in  the  Amazons. 
The  seas  and  rivers  are  inhabited  in  the  same  manner  that  the 
air  is;  the  old  philosophers  called  these  people  Undines 
(Ondins),  or  nymphs.  Of  this  race  the  males  are  few,  but  the 
females  very  numerous  ;  they  possess  the  most  exquisite  beauty, 
and  the  daughters  of  men  cannot  be  compared  with  them.  The 
earth,  in  like  manner,  is  filled  to  the  centre  with  gnomes,  a  race 
of  small  stature,  who  act  as  guardians  of  the  subterranean  trea 
sures,  mines,  and  quarries.  They  are  ingenious,  friendly  to  men, 
and  easy  to  command.  They  supply  the  children  of  the  sages 
with  all  the  gold  that  they  require,  and  ask  no  recompense  but 
the  honor  of  being  employed.  The  gnomides,  their  wives,  are 
small,  but  extremely  agreeable,  and  very  quaint  in  their  attire. 
A.s  to  the  salamanders,  the  warm  inhabitants  of  the  region  of 
fire,  they  also  are  the  servants  of  the  philosophers,  but  they  do 
not  seek  their  company  with  the  same  eagerness  that  the  others 
do,  and  their  wives  and  daughters  are  rarely  seen.  The  latter, 
however,  are  very  handsome,  more  so,  indeed,  than  the  females 
of  any  other  order  of  these  beings,  because  they  are  formed 
out  of  a  purer  element.  However,  I  shall  not  at  present  say 
anything  more  upon  the  subject,  for  you  will  soon  have  an  op- 


2ETAT.  19.]  THE  ROSICRUSCIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  179 

portunity  of  seeing  for  yourself  these  various  inhabitants  of  the 
elements,  and  can  converse  with  them  at  your  leisure.  You  will 
examine  their  costume,  their  diet,  their  customs,  their  police, 
their  admirable  laws.  You  will  be  charmed  with  the  elegance 
of  their  minds  as  well  as  that  of  their  persons  :  but  you  will  be 
unable  to  repress  your  pity  for  these  unhappy  beings,  when  they 
inform  you  that  their  soul  is  mortal,  and  that  they  have  no  hope 
of  enjoying,  through  a  blissful  eternity,  the  presence  of  that 
divine  being  whose  existence  they  acknowledge,  and  whose  at 
tributes  they  religiously  adore.  They  will  tell  you  that,  being 
composed  of  the  present  particles  of  the  elements  which  they 
inhabit,  and  having  no  commixture  of  baser  qualities,  they  live 
for  a  vast  length  of  time  ;  but  what  is  the  lapse  of  ages  in  com 
parison  of  eternity?  At  last,  they  must  sink  forever  into  the 
abyss  of  nothingness.  This  consideration  afflicts  them  deeply, 
and  we  have  great  difficulty  in  consoling  them  under  it. 

"  Our  fathers,  the  philosophers,  conversing  with  the  Almighty 
face  to  face,  lamented  to  Him  the  unhappy  condition  of  these 
creatures ;  and  He  whose  mercy  is  without  bounds,  revealed  to 
them  that  it  was  not  impossible  to  find  a  remedy  for  the  evil. 
He  showed  them  that  as  man,  by  the  connection  which  he  has 
formed  with  the  Deity,  has  become  a  partaker  of  the  divine  nature, 
so  the  sylphs,  the  gnomes,  the  nymphs  and  the  salamanders,  by 
contracting  an  alliance  with  man,  may  become  sharers  in  his  im 
mortality.  Accordingly,  at  present,  a  nymph,  a  sylphide  becomes 
immortal,  and  capable  of  the  blessedness  to  which  we  aspire, 
whenever  she  has  the  good  fortune  to  marry  a  sage ;  and  a 
gnome  or  sylph  ceases  to  be  perishable  when  he  espouses  one 
of  our  daughters.  These  invisible  beings  are,  therefore,  con 
stantly  seeking  to  gain  the  affection  of  the  inhabitants  of  the 
earth.  The  story  which  you  read  of  in  Jewish  writers  of  the 
Sons  of  God  loving  the  daughters  of  men,  and  of  the  giants 
which  resulted  from  those  nuptials,  has  reference,  when  pro 
perly  understood,  to  the  marriage  of  nymphs  and  sylphs  with 
women ;  and  the  fables  about  satyrs  and  fairies  have  a  similar 
signification.  The  innocent  desires  of  the  spotless  creatures,  so 
far  from  giving  scandal  to  the  philosophers,  appear  to  us  so 


180  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [JExAT.  19. 

just  and  creditable,  that  we  have  all  resolved  to  renounce  with 
one  accord  the  marriage  of  women,  and  dedicate  ourselves  to 
giving  immortality  to  nymphs  and  sylphides.  Admire,  my  son, 
the  felicity  of  the  sages  I  Instead  of  women  whose  frail  beauties 
fade  after  the  lapse  of  a  few  days,  and  are  succeeded  by  frightful 
wrinkles,  the  philosophers  are  the  possessors  of  a  loveliness 
which  never  fades,  and  to  which  they  have  the  glory  of  imparting 
immortality.  Judge  of  the  affection  and  gratitude  of  these  in 
visible  mistresses,  and  of  the  ardor  with  which  they  devote  them 
selves  to  please  the  charitable  philosopher,  who  applies  himself  to 
the  task  of  immortalizing  them. 

"  The  cabalist  acts  only  according  to  the  principles  of  nature ; 
and  if  you  see  in  our  books  strange  words  and  si'gns,  and  fumi 
gation,  this  is  only  to  deceive  the  ignorant.  What  I  shall  now 
communicate  to  you,  is  a  portion  of  knowledge  which  we  impart 
to  those  who  are  not  yet  fit  to  be  admitted  into  the  recesses  of 
wisdom,  but  from  whom  we  would  withhold  the  power  of  con 
versing  with  these  elementary  creatures,  chiefly  on  account  of 
the  interest  which  we  take  in  the  happiness  of  the  latter.  The 
salamanders,  as  I  mentioned  to  you,  are  formed  out  of  the 
subtlest  particles  of  the  sphere  of  flame,  globed  together  and 
organized  by  the  action  of  the  universal  fire,  which  is  so  called 
because  it  is  the  principle  of  all  the  movements  of  Nature.  The 
sylphs,  in  like  manner,  are  composed  of  the  purest  atoms  of  the 
air ;  the  nymphs  of  the  finest  grains  of  the  water,  and  the  gnomes 
of  the  most  defecated  essence  of  the  earth.  Originally,  there 
was  complete  harmony  between  Adam  and  these  creatures,  for 
he  being  composed  out  of  all  that  was  purest  in  all  the  four 
elements,  united  in  himself  the  perfections  of  all  these  beings, 
and  was  their  natural  king.  But  when  the  elements  of  his 
nature  became  foul  by  the  contamination  of  guilt,  this  harmony 
was  destroyed,  for  how  could  any  proportion  exist  between  a 
being  gross  and  impure,  and  these  refined  and  subtle  essences  ? 
What  remedy,  then,  is  there  for  this  calamity  ?  How  can  this 
untuned  lute  be  re-strung,  and  this  lost  sovereignty  be  recovered  ? 
0  Nature,  why  will  men  consult  thee  so  little  ?  Behold  the 


.  19.]  THE  ROSICRUSCIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  181 

simplicity  of  the  methods  which  Nature  suggests  for  the  restora 
tion  of  the  blessings  which  man  has  lost. 

"  If  you  desire  to  recover  the  natural  and  original  sway  of  oui 
being  over  the  salamanders,  for  example,  it  is  merely  necessary 
to  purify  and  exalt  the  element  of  fire  within  us,  and  to  draw 
up  the  tone  of  that  relaxed  chord.  For  this  purpose,  the  fire 
of  the  world  must  be  collected  in  a  globe  of  glass,  by  means  of 
concave  mirrors ;  and  this  is  the  secret  which  all  the  ancients 
religiously  concealed,  and  which  the  divine  Theophrastus  re 
vealed.  There  is  presently  formed  in  this  globe  a  solar  powder 
which  is  divested  of  all  mixture  of  other  elements ;  this  being 
prepared  according  to  art,  becomes  in  a  very  short  time  suffi 
ciently  efficacious  to  exalt  the  fire  which  is  within  us,  and  to 
render  us,  if  I  may  say  so,  of  an  ingenious  nature.  From  that 
instant,  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  sphere  of  fire  become  our  in 
feriors,  and  delighted  at  finding  that  our  mutual  harmony  is 
restored,  and  that  we  have  come  near  to  them  again,  they  treat 
us  with  the  affection  which  they  show  to  their  own  kind,  with 
the  respect  that  is  due  to  the  images  vicegerent  of  their  creator, 
and  all  the  attention  which  is  suggested  to  them  by  the  hope  of 
obtaining  from  us  the  gift  of  immortality.  It  is  true  that  the 
salamanders,  being  of  a  subtler  essence  than  the  others,  are 
naturally  longer-lived  than  they  are,  and  therefore  do  not  seek 
very  zealously  to  be  espoused  to  the  sages.  But  it  is  not  so 
with  the  sylphs  and  gnomes  or  the  salamanders.  As  they  live 
but  a  short  time,  they  have  more  occasion  for  our  services,  and 
it  is  easier  to  obtain  their  familiarity.  It  is  only  necessary  to 
seal  up  a  glass  vessel,  filled  with  conglobate  air,  earth,  or  water, 
and  to  expose  it  to  the  sun  for  a  month,  and  afterwards  separate 
the  elements  according  to  the  laws  of  science,  which  is  very  easy 
in  the  case  of  water  and  earth.  It  is  astonishing  what  magnetic 
virtue  each  of  these  purified  elements  possesses  for  the  attraction 
of  nymphs,  sylphs,  and  gnomes.  You  have  only  to  take  the 
smallest  possible  quantity  for  a  few  days,  and  you  will  see  in 
the  atmosphere  the  floating  republic  of  sylphs;  the  nymphs 
will  assemble  in  crowds  upon  the  shores,  and  the  guardians  of 
the  treasures  of  the  earth  will  display  their  riches  before  you. 
16 


182  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [JETAT.  19. 

Thus,  without  signs,  or  ceremonies,  or  uncouth  words,  we  be 
come  absolute  over  these  creatures.  They  exact  no  worship 
from  man,  for  they  know  that  he  is  their  superior.  Thus  does 
venerable  Nature  teach  her  children  to  restore  the  elements  by 
means  of  the  elements.  Thus  is  the  original  harmony  re-estab 
lished,  and  man  regains  his  proper  empire,  and  becomes  master 
of  the  world,  without  the  aid  of  demons,  or  the  resources  of  for 
bidden  arts." 

But,  notwithstanding  this  philanthropic  devotion  on  the  part 
of  the  sages,  it  would  appear  from  the  discourses  of  the  Count, 
that  but  a  small  portion  of  these  interesting  creatures  become 
immortal ;  this  arises  partly  from  the  want  of  a  sufficient  number 
of  philosophers  for  this  extensive  field  of  missionary  labor,  and 
partly  because  many  of  their  subjects  prefer  to  die  rather  than 
risk  the  danger  of  becoming  miserable  in  the  immortality  which 
they  fear  may  be  a  curse  to  them  ;  which  last  is  a  suggestion  of 
the  devil.  The  enthusiastic  Comte  de  Gabalis  proceeds  to  state 
another  advantage  which  results  from  marriage  with  this  in 
visible  creation,  by  which  it  would  seem  that  the  devil  is  cheated 
on  the  right  hand  as  well  as  on  the  left ;  for  as  the  sylphides  ac 
quire  an  immortal  soul  from  their  alliance  with  men  destined  to 
heaven,  so  those  men  who  have  no  share  in  the  glory  of  eternity, 
those  luckless  children  whom  the  sovereign  parent  has  neglected 
to  provide  for,  and  to  whom  perpetual  existence  would  be  but 
a  curse — for  it  would  seem  that  these  cabalists  have  a  touch  of 
Jansenism  in  their  philosophy — have  the  option  of  becoming 
mortal  by  forming  an  alliance  with  these  elementary  people. 
Thus  the  sage  runs  no  risk  on  the  subject  of  eternity ;  if  he  is 
predestinated  to  heaven,  he  has  the  pleasure,  when  he  is  released 
from  the  prison  of  the  body,  of  leading  to  the  skies  the  nymph 
or  sylphide  whom  he  has  immortalized  ;  if  he  is  not  one  of  the 
elect,  his  intercourse  with  the  sylphide  renders  his  soul  mortal, 
and  he  is  delivered  from  the  horrors  of  the  second  death. 

In  a  subsequent  conversation,  the  Count  proceeds  to  review 
with  great  learning  and  subtlety,  the  history  of  the  heathen 
oracles.  He  combats  the  notion  that  the  oracles  were  animated 
by  diabolical  influences,  and  displays  on  that  subject  a  force  of 


19.]  THE   ROSICRUSCIAN   PHILOSOPHY.  183 

argument,  a  variety  of  illustration,  which  we  think  it  would 
severely  task  the  faculties  of  Ilorsley  himself  successfully  to 
oppose.  He  confutes  with  ease  the  notion  of  some  among  the 
ancients,  that  the  prophetic  answers  were  caused  by  exhalations  ; 
and  then  gives  the  true  explanation  of  the  subject.  The  oracles 
in  fact  were  sylphs,  salamanders,  gnomes,  and  undines,  who  took 
pity  upon  the  blindness  of  their  fallen  and  darkened  master,  man. 
When  the  Deity  gave  up  the  care  of  the  world,  as  a  punishment 
for  the  first  sin,  these  elementary  beings  took  pleasure  in  reveal 
ing  to  man  through  the  medium  of  oracles,  all  that  they  learned 
from  the  Deity ;  they  exhorted  mankind  to  live  morally,  and 
gave  them  those  wise  and  salutary  counsels,  which  are  preserved 
in  such  great  numbers  by  Plutarch  and  other  historians.  As 
soon  as  the  Deity  had  compassion  on  the  world,  and  came  him 
self  to  be  its  teacher,  these  instructors  withdrew.  Hence  the 
silence  of  the  oracles.  For  our  part,  after  all  that  we  have  read 
on  the  subject  of  oracles,  we  prefer  the  theory  of  the  Comte  de 
Gabalis  before  all  the  others. 

The  famous  problem  of  the  origin  of  evil  is  also  solved  by  the 
Cabala,  and  the  mystery  of  the  garden  of  Eden  cleared  up.  It 
was  the  intention  of  the  Deity,  it  seems,  that  the  world  should 
be  peopled  by  the  marriage  of  Adam  with  the  females  of  the 
elemental  creation,  and  that  Eve  should  be  espoused  to  some 
husband  of  that  race.  The  sin  of  our  parents  consisted  in  viola 
ting  this  command,  and  contracting  a  nuptial  alliance  with  one 
another :  hence  a  dwarfed  and  degraded  posterity.  It  is  ob 
servable  that  in  the  biography  of  nearly  all  the  great  heroes  and 
sages  of  antiquity,  and  of  many  also  during  the  early  and 
middle  ages  of  Christianity,  it  is  related  that  one  of  their  parents 
was  a  god,  a  demon,  or  a  phantom.  The  Count  de  Gabalis  re 
views  these  cases,  and  shows  such  persons  were  in  fact  the  off 
spring  of  marriages  contracted  according  to  the  original  purpose 
of  the  divine  will,  between  human  and  elemental  beings. 

The  characteristics  of  the  different  orders  of  these  viewless 
creatures  are  very  finely  discriminated  by  our  author,  as  the 
reader  will,  as  to  some  particulars,  already  have  seen.  One  fea 
ture  in  their  nature  should  not  be  overlooked,  as  it  is  specially 


184  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^ETAT.  1» 

connected  with  a  part  of  the  machinery  of  La  Motte  Fouque's 
tale.  The  passions  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  air  and  the  water, 
are  less  amiable  and  smooth  than  those  of  the  salamanders  :  their 
jealousy,  in  truth,  is  extremely  bitter.  This  was  illustrated  by 
an  occurrence  which  is  related  by  the  divine  Paracelsus,  and 
which  was  seen  by  the  whole  city  of  Stauffenberg.  A  philoso 
pher,  who  had  contracted  an  alliance  of  immortality  with  a 
nymph,  was  so  forgetful  of  his  faith  as  afterwards  to  marry  a 
woman.  One  day,  as  he  was  dining  in  company  with  his  new 
mistress  and  some  of  her  friends,  the  company  suddenly  beheld 
in  the  air  the  most  beautiful  ancle  that  was  ever  seen.  The  for 
saken  nymph  was  desirous  of  letting  the  friends  of  the  bride 
groom  see  what  a  great  mistake  he  had  made  in  preferring  a 
woman  to  her.  Immediately  after  this  display,  the  injured  nymph 
put  the  false  lover  to  death.  However,  this  jealousy  extends 
only  to  women,  and  not  to  females  of  their  own  race,  with  whom 
the  philosopher  is  permitted  to  indulge  in  the  most  unrestrained 
polygamy.  They  prefer  the  interest  and  immortality  of  their 
companions  to  their  own  private  satisfaction,  and  they  desire  the 
sages  to  present  to  their  republic  as  many  immortal  children  as 
they  can. 

As  to  the  gnomes,  their  relation  to  men  is  more  singular  than 
that  of  the  others,  and  as  their  characters  have  been  decidedly 
libelled  by  the  popular  writers  who  have  spoken  of  them,  we 
conceive  it  but  fair  to  allow  the  Comte  de  Gabalis  to  vindicate 
the  reputation  of  his  dusky  friends,  by  his  own  unquestionable 
statements,  in  the  course  of  which  he  clears  up  some  particulars 
in  demonology,  in  respect  to  which  our  vulgar  knowledge  is  per« 
vaded  with  the  grossest  errors. 

"  The  gnomes,"  says  the  Count,  whom  he  represents  as  a  mild 
and  benevolent  race,  "  become  terrified  by  the  infernal  bowlings 
which  the  evil  spirits  keep  up  in  the  centre  of  the  earth,  and 
think  it  must  be  better  to  continue  mortal  than  to  run  the  risk 
of  being  tormented  so  awfully  if  they  become  immortal.  These 
evil  spirits,  who  are  their  neighbors,  persuade  the  gnomes,  natu 
rally  very  friendly  to  man,  that  they  will  confer  a  great  service  upon 
any  man  whom  they  can  induce  to  renounce  his  immortality. 


-ETAT.   19.]  THE  ROSICRUSCIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  Ig5 

They  engage  to  give  to  any  one  from  whom  a  gnome  can  pro 
cure  such  a  renunciation,  as  much  gold  as  he  wants,  or  to  avert 
some  danger  that  awaits  him,  or  do  anything  else  he  may  desire. 
Thus  the  devil,  villain  that  he  is,  by  the  intervention  of  the  gnome, 
causes  the  soul  of  this  man  to  become  mortal,  and  deprives  it  of 
its  right  to  eternal  life."  "Those  compacts,  then,"  said  I  (writes 
the  Abbe),  "  of  which  the  popular  demonographies  give  us  so 
many  examples,  are  in  reality  not  made  with  the  devil  himself  ?" 
"  Certainly  not,"  replied  the  Count.  "  Is  not  the  Prince  of  this 
world  driven  out  ?  Is  he  not  shut  up  ?  Is  he  not  tied  ?  Can 
he  mount  upwards  to  the  regions  of  light,  and  diffuse  through 
them  the  thickened  gloom  of  Hades  ?  He  can  do  nothing  against 
man,  in  his  own  person.  He  can  only  persuade  the  gnomes  who 
are  friendly  to  men,  to  convey  these  proposals  of  his  to  such  of 
the  human  race  as  he  most  fears  will  be  saved,  in  order  that  their 
soul  may  die  with  their  body."  "You  think  then  that  the  souls 
of  such  persons  die,"  said  I.  "My  son,  they  die,"  replied  the 
Count.  "  And  are  not  condemned  to  tortures  ?  I  think  then 
that  they  get  off  very  cheaply,  and  that  their  punishment  is  very 
slight  for  such  a  crime  as  renouncing  their  baptism  and  despising 
the  death  of  the  Lord."  "  Do  you  think  it  a  light  punishment," 
replied  the  Count,  "  to  enter  into  the  dark  abyss  of  nothingness  ? 
Know,  that  that  is  worse  than  to  be  condemned  to  tortures, — 
that  there  is  a  portion  of  mercy  in  the  retribution  which  God 
exercises  against  sinners  in  hades, — and  that  it  is  of  his  grace 
that  the  fire  does  not  consume  those  whom  it  burns.*  Nothing 
ness  is  a  greater  calamity  than  all  these  sufferings,  and  this  is 
what  the  sages  preach  to  the  gnomes  when  they  assemble  them 
together  to  inform  them  what  a  mistake  they  make  in  choosing 
death  rather  than  immortality,  and  nonentity  in  preference  to 
a  blessed  eternity,  which  they  might  possess  if  they  would  ally 
themselves  to  the  human  race  without  requiring  from  them  these 
profane  renunciations.  Some  of  them  believe  us,  and  we  per- 

*  It  must  be  admitted  that  the  system  of  the  Count  is  here  somewhat  con 
tradictory  ;  for  a  little  before  he  had  represented  annihilation,  by  means  of  an  al 
liance  with  a  sylphido,  as  one  of  the  privileges  of  those  men  who  had  been 
predestined  to  misery  in  a  future  state. 

16* 


186  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [JEtAT.  19. 

mit  them  to  marry  our  ladies."  "You  preach  sermons  then  to 
these  subterranean  people  ?"  said  I.  "  You  evangelize  them  ?" 
"  Why  not  ?"  he  replied.  "  Our  mission  is  to  teach  them  as  well 
as  the  inhabitants  of  the  fire,  the  air,  and  the  water ;  and  philo 
sophic  charity  diffuses  itself  indifferently  over  all  the  children  of 
God.  As  these  people  are  more  intelligent  and  enlightened  than 
the  generality  of  men,  they  are  more  docile  and  capable  of  dis 
cipline,  and  they  listen  to  divine  truth  with  a  respect  that  is  truly 
edifying."  "  I  should  think  it  would  be  extremely  edifying,"  said 
I  with  a  laugh,  "  to  see  a  cabalist  in  a  pulpit  delivering  a  homily 
to  those  gentlemen."  "  You  can  enjoy  that  satisfaction,  my  son, 
whenever  you  will,"  said  the  Count;  "if  you  choose,  I  will  as 
semble  them  this  evening,  and  preach  a  sermon  to  them  at  mid 
night."  "  At  midnight  ?"  cried  I.  "  I  have  always  heard  that 
that  was  the  time  of  the  devil's  Sabbath."  The  Count  began  to 
laugh.  "  You  put  me  in  mind  of  the  innumerable  fooleries,"  said 
he,  "  which  the  demonographies  relate  about  this  Sabbath.  The 
devil,  my  son,  has  no  power  to  sport  in  that  way  with  the  human 
race,  or  to  make  covenants  with  them,  much  less  to  compel  them 
to  worship  him.  What  has  given  rise  to  the  common  opinion 
on  this  subject  is  this.  The  sages,  as  I  have  told  you,  from 
time  to  time  assemble  together  the  inhabitants  of  the  elements 
to  give  them  moral  instruction  and  to  preach  to  them  on  the 
mysteries  of  religion.  On  these  occasions  it  generally  happens 
that  some  gnome  is  reclaimed  from  the  error  of  his  ways,  is  made 
to  understand  the  horrors  of  annihilation,  and  thus  consents  to 
be  made  immortal.  We  give  him  a  lady  for  his  wife  ;  the  mar 
riage  is  celebrated  on  the  spot,  and  the  nuptial  festivities  are 
honored  with  the  rejoicing  that  is  due  to  the  importance  of 
such  a  conquest.  This  is  the  origin  of  those  dances,  and  cries 
of  joy,  which  Aristotle  says  had  been  heard  in  islands  where  no 
person  was  to  be  seen.  The  great  Orpheus  was  the  first  who 
convoked  these  subterraneous  people.  At  his  first  preachment, 
Sabasius,  the  most  ancient  of  the  gnomes,  was  immortalized ;  and 
it  is  from  this  Sabasius  that  the  assemblages  of  this  kind  took 
their  name,  for  as  long  as  he  lived  the  sages  always  addressed 
their  discourse  to  him,  as  you  may  see  in  the  hymns  of  Orpheus. 


.  32.]  LEGAL  RIGHTS  OF  WOMAN.  187 

Ignorant  people  have  taken  occasion  to  confuse  this  subject  ex 
tremely,  to  invent  a  thousand  impertinences  about  it,  and  traduce 
a  convocation  which  we  hold  only  for  the  honor  and  glory  of 
the  Supreme  Being." 

The  Count  took  leave  of  the  Abbe,  to  think  over  the  heads  of 
the  discourse  which  he  intended  to  pronounce  that  evening  to 
the  gnomes.  The  next  day  he  shows  him  a  copy  of  it  as  he  had 
delivered  it.  "  11  est  merveilleux  /"  exclaims  the  Abbe.  He 
promised  to  lay  it  before  the  public,  together  with  other  conver 
sations  which  he  had  held  with  this  extraordinary  personage. 
The  promised  volume,  however,  never  appeared.  It  is  odd 
enough,  by  the  by,  that  the  volume  which  we  have  just  been 
speaking  of,  opens  with  an  announcement  of  the  death  of  Comte 
de  Gabalis  by  apoplexy.  "  Ill-natured  people,"  says  the  author, 
11  will  not  hesitate  to  say  that  this  is  the  fate  which  generally 
awaits  those  who  make  a  bad  use  of  the  secrets  of  the  sages,  and 
that  ever  since  the  beatified  Raymond  Sully  pronounced  sen 
tence  upon  such  persons  in  his  will,  an  angel  has  never  been 
wanting  as  executioner  to  wring  the  necks  of  all  those  who  in 
discreetly  reveal  the  mysteries  of  philosophy."  It  would  seem 
from  the  anecdote  which  we  have  related  above,  that  something 
like  the  catastrophe  which  was  thus  jestingly  assigned  to  the 
fictitious  Count,  speedily  overtook  the  Abbe  de  Yillars  himself. 


THE  LEGAL  RIGHTS  OP  WOMAN:  Being  remarks  in  favor  of  a  Legislative 
creation  of  independence  of  property  in  Married  Life,  and  allowing  the 
Elective  Franchise  to  both  sexes.  By  a  member  of  the  Society  of  Friends. 
Pamphlet,  pp.  40.  1848. 

THE  political  philosophy  of  this  age  appears  to  us  to  be 
characterized  rather  by  sensibility  in  the  benevolent  ends  which 
it  proposes,  than  by  wisdom  in  the  means  which  it  employs  for 
arriving  at  them.  Its  capital  fault  is,  that  it  legislates  directly 
to  its  objects,  in  matters  in  which  direct  legislation,  by  human 
power,  is  impotent ;  instead  of  studying  the  laws  which  Nature, 
or  rather,  a  fore-planning,  creative  Providence  has  given  to  the 


188  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [JETAT.  32. 

social  relations  of  humanity,  and  through  them,  mediately,  and 
often  remotely  producing  the  results  which  it  sees  to  be  desirable, 
or  rather  so  arranging  the  subjects  to  be  influenced,  according 
to  the  laws  of  nature,  that  the  inherent  forces  in  man's  consti 
tution  shall  themselves  work  out  the  best  effects  which  Provi 
dence  has  permitted  them  to  reach.  In  political  subjects,  man 
has  yet  to  learn  the  lesson  of  his  own  utter  impotency,  and  till 
then,  he  will  never  know  the  secret  of  his  boundless,  his  magni 
ficent  capacity  to  control.  In  material  science  this  discovery 
has  been  made,  and  it  is  the  origin  of  the  sublime  mastery  which 
human  intelligence  has  acquired  in  physics.  Bacon,  the  inspired 
of  intellect — the  poet  and  the  prophet  of  the  truth  of  things 
sensible' — ascertained  that  the  extent  of  man's  power  over  the 
outward  world  is  to  change  the  relative,  distances  in  space,  of 
material  bodies,  and  that  all  the  rest  is  wrought  out  by  nature 
herself ;  and  this  revelation,  by  leading  all  science  to  investigate 
the  laws  of  that  all-operating  nature,  and  all  art  to  act  in  subor 
dination  to  them,  exalted  man  into  a  higher  order  of  beings, 
gave  the  continuing  energies  of  creation  to  him  in  commission, 
and  in  regard  to  visible  existence,  might  not  irreverently  be  said 
to  have  put  all  things  under  his  feet.  That  there  are  such  fixed 
laws  in  the  moral  world,  however  difficult  fully  to  be  discovered, 
has  been  felt  with  the  fervor  of  inspiration,  though  dimly  seen, 
by  some  great  master-spirits  of  social  science,  such  as  Yico  and 
Burke ;  but  has  never  been  dreamt  of  by  that  insane  metaphysi 
cal  philosophy  which  rules  the  popular  legislation  of  this  country, 
and  which,  in  the  last  century,  justly  moved  the  statesman  of 
Beaconsfield,  intellectually,  to  the  intensest  contempt,  and  mor 
ally  to  a  mingled  disgust,  detestation  and  terror.  That  woman, 
in  the  relation  of  married  life,  as  that  relation  has  existed  hitherto, 
is  to  some  extent  necessarily  exposed  to  hardships  and  suffer 
ings,  and  that,  according  to  the  very  principle  of  that  relation, 
her  happiness  is  to  a  fearful  extent  dependent  upon  her  husband, 
is  a  fact  of  universal  experience.  But  what  will  you  do — since 
it  is  agreed  that  the  world  is  so  imperfect  that  unless  we  mend  it 
thoroughly,  we  shall  be  disgraced  by  being  seen  abroad  in  it  ? 
The  metaphysical  philosophy  will  remedy  the  so-called  evil  by 


.  32.]  LEGAL  RIGHTS  OF  WOMAN.  189 

abolishing  the  principle  of  the  common  law  which  merges  the 
existence  of  the  wife,  legally,  in  that  of  the  husband,  and  by 
giving  her  an  independent  position  and  plenary  rights.  The 
maxim  of  the  common  law,  in  our  opinion,  was  not  a  theory  or 
plan  contrived  by  men  for  disposing  of  a  subject  over  which  they 
had  unlimited  control,  but  was  meant  to  be  an  expression  of  the 
truth  of  facts  as  they  exist  in  life,  and  an  accommodation  of  the 
action  of  human  law  to  the  state  of  things  as  is  established  by 
the  divine  law ;  not  the  proclamation  of  that  which  ought  to  be, 
but  the  recognition  of  that  which  is.  Now  this  popular  system, 
which  promises  by  convulsing  to  reform  the  world,  recasts  the 
whole  relation,  and  brings  the  parties  together  on  the  footing 
of  independent  partners  in  the  trade  and  business  of  life,  capable 
of  determining  and  prescribing  the  terms  and  conditions  of  the 
union,  according  to  their  sovereign  will.  We  do  not  think  thus 
of  marriage.  We  are  of  opinion  that  it  is  a  state  entirely  of 
natural  relation,  and  not  of  voluntary  human  contrivance  ;  that 
it  results,  in  a  certain  definite  form,  from  instincts  and  tendencies 
in  man,  delicate  and  impalpable,  yet  irresistible  and  eternal : 
and  that  the  relative  position  of  the  parties,  as  a  resultant  from 
natural  and  organic  causes,  is  fixed  as  absolutely  and  unchange 
ably  as  the  mutual  dependency  of  parts  of  the  organization  of 
an  individual  being.  From  all  these  appointments  and  provis 
ions  established  in  the  natures  of  things,  the  great  law  results, 
that  the  wife  and  the  husband  become  one  in  marriage,  neither 
strictly  being  subordinated  to  the  other,  but  both  being  merged 
into  the  unity  of  a  new  moral  existence.  This  transforma 
tion  of  persons  is  not  notional  and  fictitious  ;  it  is  a  divine  reality. 
Who  does  not  remember,  and  who  did  not  admire,  the  beautiful 
lecture  of  Mr.  Dana  upon  "Woman?"  The  intellectual  merit 
of  that  discourse  consisted  in  apprehending, — as  the  central 
germ  of  truth  upon  the  subject,  and  in  developing  through 
its  manifold  branchings, — the  law  of  the  inherent  moral  dif 
ference  of  the  sexes.  According  to  this  fine  conception,  cha 
racters,  thoughts,  passions,  sentiments,  and  all  things  within, 
have  their  sexes.  The  nature,  sphere  and  duty  of  the  several 
parties  stand  together  in  a  relation  of  beautiful  antagonism, 


190  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  32. 

one  being  the  complement  of  the  other,  in  such  wise  that  per 
manent  diversity  is  the  only  harmony,  and  similarity  is  dis 
cord  and  error.  Certainly,  the  only  true  education  and  advance 
ment  of  woman  consist  in  development  according  to  the  organic 
principle  of  her  moral  being  ;  and  as  that  is  one  of  polar  oppo- 
siteness  to  man's,  her  refinement  is  soiled,  her  dignity  impaired 
and  her  power  diminished,  by  every  attempt  to  approximate 
her  to  man's  character,  talents  or  employments.  It  is  only  as 
woman  is  thoroughly  womanly  in  her  sphere  of  action,  in  the 
subjects  of  her  interest,  and  in  her  modes  of  feeling,  that  she  can 
enjoy  that  controlling  influence  over  man,  and  exert  that  eleva 
ting,  purifying  and  refining  action  upon  society,  which  is  the 
glory  of  her  sex  and  the  blessedness  of  the  other. 

Now  the  office  of  human  government  in  the  matter  is  this  : 
to  ascertain  the  normal  relation  of  the  parties  in  married  life,  as 
it  is  constituted  by  abiding  natural  causes,  and,  in  conformity 
with  that  relation,  to  regulate  those  things  over  which  it  has  con 
trol,  in  such  a  way  as  to  preserve  that  relation  always  from  vio 
lation  and  disturbance.  But  how  can  there  be  found  in  distinct 
ness  and  in  independence,  an  advancement  of  that  comfort,  whose 
very  life  consists  in  union  and  identity  ?  That  protection  should 
be  given  to  the  wife  against  the  husband's  misfortunes,  is  most 
proper.  It  is  a  protection  not  more  to  her  than  to  him ;  indeed, 
more  to  him  than  to  her.  It  assumes,  acknowledges,  and  main 
tains  their  essential  unity.  And  special  cases  may  suggest  them 
selves  where,  by  those  forms  of  legal  settlements,  perfectly  fa 
miliar  to  us  all,  special  evils  should  be  controlled.  But  why  as 
an  organic  law  should  there  be  sought  in  protection  against  the 
husband,  a  promotion  of  her  honor  and  true  dignity,  whose  only 
safety  is  through  him  and  in  him  ?  In  attempting  to  get  her 
happiness,  in  that  relation,  free  from  some  of  the  accidents  which 
undoubtedly  do  attend  it,  you  destroy  the  very  being  of  that 
happiness,  because  you  interfere  with  the  conditions  of  its  exist- 
?,nce.  Now,  if  the  common  law  neglected  some  matters  of  detail, 
in  relation  to  property,  which  might  have  been  more  wisely  regu 
lated,  it  always  received  and  maintained  the  great  principle  of 
moral  and  social  unity  in  married  life :  the  modern  system,  in 


2ETAT.  29.]  FANNY  FORESTER.  191 

endeavoring  to  prevent  certain  possible,  but  after  all,  very  rai  c, 
evils  of  detail,  fatally  wounds  tlie  essential  and  true  principle. 
A  system  of  society  reconstructed  upon  the  plan  of  this  meta 
physical  school  of  politics — which  is  not  a  new  school,  and  in 
advance  of  the  times,  but  is  the  exploded  folly  of  all  the  schools, 
thrown  behind  it  by  the  sense  and  practice  of  every  age — would 
be  in  opposition  to  all  the  laws  of  Providence,  and  would  be  as 
enduring  and  effective  as  an  engine  whose  construction  was  in 
direct  antagonism  to  the  laws  of  mechanics.  Let  no  legislator 
attempt  to  be  more  powerful  than  Nature,  or  wiser  than  Truth, 
or  better  than  God. 


TRIPPINGS  IN  AUTHOR-LAND.     By  FANNY  FORESTER. 

[Extract  from  the  Author's  Diary.  "January  1,  1846.  I  went  this  morning 
to  St.  Peter's  Church ;  afterwards  paid  some  visits ;  Mr.  Chauncey,  my  uncle, 
Miss  Fanny  Forester.  This  last  one,  whose  true  name  is  the  unimpressive  one  of 
Cknbbuck,  is  a  person  of  very  considerable  interest.  Her  talent,  as  a  writer  of 
light  fictions,  I  rate  highly.  There  is  a  delicacy  and  genuineness  in  her  cha 
racter  which  render  her  quite  engaging  in  social  intercourse.  While  we  were 
talking  about  something,  she  suddenly  cried  out,  '  Oh,  Mr.  Wallace,  I  must 
show  you  a  notice  of  my  book,'  and  forthwith  ran  up  stairs  and  brought  down 
a  newspaper  containing  an  extract  from  'The  Gospel  Messenger,' in  which 
her  'Trippings  in  Author-land/  were  spoken  of  with  the  most  vulgar,  stupid 
and  brutal  contempt.  She  laughed,  but  really,  I  believe,  was  deeply  wounded. 
If  I  can  find  any  proper  place  I  will  cuff  this  reverend  booby  over  the  mazard, 
in  the  way  that  his  insolent  coarseness  deserves."] 

THE  future  historian  of  letters  will  surely  note,  as  a  distinction 
of  these  times,  the  remarkable  and  great  extent  to  which  every 
department  of  literary  effort,  during  thirty  years  past,  has  been 
illustrated  and  adorned  by  feminine  talent.  The  earlier  records 
instances  of  learned  ladies — a  very  respectable  guild,  but  not 
the  less,  occasionally,  a  little  tedious,  for  being  at  all  times  ve 
hemently  dignified  in  manner  and  topics  ;  and  some  examples  of 
an  extremely  opposite  class  of  performers,  chiefly  in  fiction  and 
the  drama,  who  by  extravagance  of  invention  and  freedom  of 
allusions,  sought  to  supply  the  absence  of  that  delicacy,  with 


192  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  29. 


whose  departure  from  female  sentiment,  every  true  excellence 
takes  its  eternal  leave.  It  was  about  the  beginning  of  this 
century  that,  for  the  first  time  in  the  annals  of  any  nation,  a 
first-rate  reputation,  upon  a  great  scale,  in  the  highest  regions 
of  intellectual  exertion,  was  deserved  and  obtained  by  one  of  the 
gentler  sex.  Then,  for  the  first  time,  the  mind  of  Europe  bowed 
and  yielded,  not  with  respect  only,  but  with  awe  and  wonder,  to 
the  leading  vigor,  the  brilliant  energy,  and  copious  fervor  of  a 
woman's  understanding  ;  for  Madame  De  Stael  is  as  much  an 
authority  in  the  philosophy  of  politics,  and  of  its  kindred  social 
concerns,  as  she  is  an  idol  and  a  worship  in  the  more  glittering 
scenes  of  imaginative  art.  Nor  was  she  a  luminary  with  whose 
going  down  the  day  is  ended  ;  but  rather  was  a  sort  of  Hesperus, 
to  lead  in  a  beaming  throng,  in  whose  various  lustre  the  rays  still 
separately  shine,  of  that  brightness  whose  solid  and  thick 
splendors  will  perhaps  never  again  be  admired  in  union,  as  they 
were  admired  in  her.  At  this  moment,  fully  one-half  of  those 
who  hold  the  popular  attention  in  England,  are  of  that  sex 
whose  acknowledged  abilities  we  had  formerly  been  wont  to 
find  displayed  by  conversation  rather  than  by  the  pen.  In  this 
country,  probably,  the  proportion  is  still  larger.  In  every  di 
rection,  on  every  class  of  subjects,  in  every  kind  of  style,  we  meet 
with  that  sparkling  freshness  of  sentiment,  that  animated  ease, 
and  interest  without  effort,  that  innate  justness  of  reflection  and 
fine  preciseness  of  apprehension  which  are  the  special  and  un- 
cominunicable  charms  of  feminine  genius.  Amongst  all  this 
bright  company  of  native  authoresses,  there  is  none  whose  dis 
plays  we  always  follow  with  a  more  gratified  interest,  or  of 
whose  future  distinction  we  take  a  more  confident  omen,  than 
the  lady  who  reluctantly  "  suffers  herself  to  be  desired"  under 
the  name  of  Fanny  Forester. 

She  possesses  many  talents,  and  an  assemblage  of  lesser 
accomplishments,  which,  in  her,  seem  to  be  so  genuine  and  in 
stinctive  that  they  might  almost  be  mistaken  for  natural  talents. 
The  movements  of  her  mind  have  a  quiet,  soft  brightness,  that 
seems  to  shine  for  itself  rather  than  for  others,  and  to  be  spon 
taneous,  more  than  exerted  j  glowing,  apparently,  without  design, 


29.]  FANNY   FORESTER.  193 

and  almost  in  despite  of  consciousness.  Her  powers  of  reasoning 
are  strong ;  her  feelings  prompt  and  abounding ;  her  sense  of 
humor,  quick  and  various — but  these,  and  other  faculties,  are 
subordinated,  in  their  exercise,  to  a  delicacy  of  character  and 
taste,  ethereal  almost  in  sensibility,  and  timorous,  even  painfully, 
of  every  offence  against  refinement — the  deepest,  surest  fascina 
tion  that  can  belong  to  a  woman  ;  beautiful  in  the  errors  it  may 
lead  to,  and  most  enchanting,  perhaps,  when  it  is  most  in  excess ; 
whose  power  is  as  enduring  as  the  pleasure  which  it  imparts  is 
pure  and  exquisite.  But  there  are  secondary  qualities,  going 
to  the  manner,  rather  than  to  the  nature  or  degree  of  that 
capacity  which  we  desire  to  define  as  constituting  a  great  and 
splendid  faculty  in  this  gentle  and  modest  person.  We  regard 
her  as  possessing  talents  for  narrative  of  a  very  high  and  rare 
order — talents  which  place  her  in  the  front  rank  of  writers  of 
domestic  fiction  on  either  side  of  the  water. 

All  that  is  comprehended  in  the  assertion  of  this  power,  might 
not,  perhaps,  be  very  easily  or  briefly  defined.  "  It  is  difficult," 
says  Horace  Walpole,  "  in  English,  to  relate,  without  falling  too 
low,  or  rising  too  high;  a  fault  obviously  occasioned  by  the 
little  care  taken  to  speak  pure  language  in  common  conversa 
tion."  The  defect,  however,  lies  far  deeper  than  this ;  and 
even  so  far  as  it  is  an  affair  of  style,  the  analysis  of  the  difficulty 
will  be  found,  as  all  other  matters  of  style  are,  only  among  the 
very  elements  of  mental  and  moral  speculation.  A  fiction  of 
familiar  life,  perfectly  executed,  appears  to  involve  the  har 
monious  operation  of  a  greater  number  of  diversified  powers 
than  any  other  kind  of  literary  effort  whatever,  more  even  than 
the  drama :  an  opinion  that  will  hardly  be  deemed  extravagant, 
if  we  are  considered  right  in  thinking  that  the  task  was  scarcely 
ever  accomplished  with  absolute  felicity,  except  by  Sir  Walter 
Scott  and  Miss  Austen.  To  develop  a  scene  by  means  of  all 
its  characteristic  particulars — to  unfold  an  action  by  the  de 
scription  of  those  circumstances  of  it  that  would  be  present  to 
the  consciousness  of  any  one  who  was  a  partaker  in  it,  and 
which,  in  an  aesthetic  point  of  view,  may  be  said  to  constitute 
the  identity  of  the  transaction — this  is  the  faculty  we  are  alluding 
It 


194  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^BTAT.  29. 

to ;  which  we  surely  cannot  err  in  deeming  uncommon  in  its 
kind  and  exalted  in  its  comparative  value.  To  note  all  the 
elements  of  a  scene — to  select  and  order  them — to  choose  among 
the  indefinite  number  of  methods — direct  or  associative — descrip 
tive,  suggestive,  or  inferential — by  which  notions  may  be  con 
veyed  to  the  reader — to  play  at  once,  and  harmoniously,  upon 
the  mind,  the  fancy  and  the  feelings,  for  the  production  of  one 
rich  symphony  of  imaginative  etfect — this,  truly,  might  be  thought 
to  be  even  beyond  all  attainment.  Indeed,  the  problem  is  be 
yond  intellectual  solution,  and  can  be  accomplished  only  by 
genius  ;  using  intellect  for  the  measure  of  that  power  within  us 
which  analyzes,  and  acts  because  it  understands,  and  giving  the 
name  of  genius  to  that  part  of  our  understanding  which  appre 
hends  rationally  beyond  where  it  can  analyze,  and  moves  cor 
rectly  from  an  instinct  of  right,  and  an  involuntary  and  natural 
sympathy  with  truth  and  beauty.  But  the  more  familiar  and 
acquired  capacities  which  this  divine  faculty  may  use  as  its  in 
struments  for  the  construction  of  moral  fictions,  will  be  found  to 
exhaust  the  farthest  reach  of  mental  accomplishment.  An 
originative  and  brilliant  fancy — a  nice  perception — a  vigorous 
ideality — sense,  tact,  and  judgment — these,  in  their  best  con 
ditions,  are  of  constant  requirement ;  but  the  finest  effects  can  be 
imparted  to  a  tale  of  incidents,  only  by  that  correct  acquaint 
ance  with  character,  in  its  individual  varieties,  and  with  human 
nature  at  large,  to  which  much  experience  and  much  reflection 
must  have  contributed. 

Such  masterly  touches  as  these  it  is — partaking  of  a  nature 
of  greatness — which  impart  to  the  narratives  of  this  engaging 
person  their  rare  effectiveness. 

We  are  struck  with  the  marked  and  increasing  superiority  of 
the  later  compositions  of  this  lady  over  her  earlier  ones.  The 
capacity  to  improve  is  one  of  the  most  certain  marks  of  the 
higher  order  of  minds ;  and  we  are  accustomed,  in  everything, 
to  look  for  it,  as  a  distinguishing  test  of  a  real  and  abiding 
power  in  opposition  to  the  mere  talent  to  flash  and  dazzle. 
"  The  Bank  Note,"  which  is  one  of  her  latest  productions,  is 
contrived  and  conducted  with  genuine  ability ;  it  is  a  successful 


.  30.]     NOURSE'S  LEGACIES  OF  THE  PAST.        195 

attempt  to  portray  a  very  common,  but  very  complex,  puzzling 
character,  kindred  in  some  respects  to  the  "  Chloe"  of  the  poet, 
and  to  impart  interest  to  a  train  of  occurrences  extremely  simple 
and  ordinary,  but  of  deep  moral  interest.  We  are  desirous  to 
see  the  fine  and  varied  faculties  which  this  lady  unquestionably 
possesses,  exerted  upon  some  extensive  and  sustained  work  of 
fiction,  upon  which  all  her  powers  may  be  fully  concentrated  and 
tasked.  She  lingers  below  her  destiny  in  being  contented  with 
even  the  greatest  popularity ;  the  native  and  true  atmosphere 
of  her  renown  is  in  the  regions  of  fame. 


REMARKS  ox  THE  PAST,  and  its  Legacies  to  American  Society.     "Westward 
the  course  of  Empire  takes  its  way."     By  J.  D.  NOURSE,  Louisville,  Ky. 

WE  have  rarely  been  surprised  into  the  pleasure  of  so  high 
an  admiration  as  has  been  inspired  by  the  perusal  of  this  work. 
We  have  been  debtors  to  it  for  one  of  the  rarest  and  most  inti 
mate  gratifications  that  we  ever  experience  ; — that  of  having  all 
our  intellectual  and  moral  faculties  thoroughly  breathed  by  a 
vigorous  thinker — of  wrestling  with  a  great  mind,  in  generous 
contest,  until  it  gives  us  the  blessing  of  its  inspiration.  Mr. 
Xourse's  little  volume  has  stirred  the  depths  of  our  nature  with 
a  genial  agitation  of  pleasure  and  improvement ;  and  if  the 
tumult  of  admiration  which  it  has  left  behind  should  disturb  our 
discrimination  of  the  qualities  which  have  contributed  to  our 
enjoyment,  or  our  estimate  of  the  exact  comparative  value  of  the 
work  as  a  contribution  to  philosophy,  our  very  inability  or  in 
disposition  to  distinguish  or  decide  with  judicial  coldness,  will 
be  the  most  genuine  evidence  and  measure  of  a  peculiar  and 
superior  excellence. 

It  gives  us  satisfaction  to  send  to  Mr.  Nourse,  across  the  in 
terval  of  half  a  continent,  the  greeting  of  our  appreciation  and 
respect ;  and  we  shall  feel  that  we  perform  the  least  questionable 
duty  of  our  office,  in  diffusing  the  reputation  of  one  who  has  cul 
tivated,  with  such  ability,  that  noble  literary  art,  which,  after 


19G  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  30. 


the  ignoble  contests  of  gain  have  been  forgotten,  and  the  frivo 
lities  of  fashionable  extravagance  have  perished,  remains  forever 
the  pride,  and  boast,  and  ornament  of  a  nation. 

Mr.  bourse  not  only  belongs  to  the  ranks  of  genius,  but  is 
entitled  to  take  his  place  in  that  higher  order  of  creative  minds, 
in  which  the  capacity  of  great,  sustained,  and  just  thought  co 
exists  with  the  glow  of  fancy  and  the  fire  of  passion.  That 
mental  energy  which  develops  itself  into  luxuriant  forms  of 
beauty,  is  apt  to  turn  upon  a  centre  within  itself,  and  its  con 
ceptions  have  a  personal  and  individuated  character  :  —  for  those 
high,  and  combined,  and  continuing  processes  of  ratiocination, 
by  which  the  avenues  of  wisdom  are  opened,  and  speculation  is 
sent  along  the  line  of  abstract  and  essential  truth,  we  commonly 
look  to  those  severer  minds  in  which  a  devotion  to  science  has 
absorbed  the  intellectual  essence  which  else  would  have  flowered 
into  poetic  illustration.  When  these  two  characters  are  brought 
into  union  —  when  we  meet  with  an  inspiration  so  abounding, 
and  a  literary  accomplishment  so  complete  and  harmonious,  that 
while  Thought  is  moving  onward  in  its  high  and  grand  orbit 
of  philosophic  reason,  Imagination  is  circling  its  progress  with 
the  graces  of  art,  and  the  ardors  of  emotion  are  breathing  before 
it  —  we  recognize  the  first  class  of  great  and  comprehensive  in 
telligences.  To  reduce  a  subject  into  the  exact  form  of  science, 
and  then  to  charge  this  form  with  the  vital  warmth  and  color 
of  poetry,  is  to  accomplish  the  loftiest  task  of  genius,  and  to 
exhibit  the  richest  forces  of  human  understanding.  Nothing 
gives  us  a  more  essential  delight,  than  to  meet  with  an  author 
whose  production  addresses  our  whole  nature  at  once,  and  while 
it  exercises  and  impresses  our  intellect,  kindles  our  feelings  and 
enchants  our  fancy. 

The  Philosophy  of  History  —  under  that  majestic  conception 
in  which  it  has  presented  itself  to  the  most  profound  and  com 
prehensive  thinkers  of  modern  Europe  as  the  grand  ensemble 
of  the  laws,  and  tendencies,  and  influences,  and  characteristics, 
and  circumstances  of  human  development,  as  exhibited  in  the 
past  —  is  the  dignified  theme  which  the  author  has  chosen  for 
the  display  of  his  powers  of  analysis  and  illustration.  It  is  the 


J£TAT.  30.]  NOURSE'S  LEGACIES  OF  THE  PAST.  ^97 

great  subject  of  study  in  this  age ;  and  worthy  to  engage  every 
interest  and  faculty  of  cultivated  minds.  In  his  general  manner 
of  apprehending  the  subject,  and  in  the  fundamental  principles 
from  which  he  takes  his  departure,  Mr.  Xourse  is  fairly  up  to 
the  level  of  the  foremost  inquirers  in  this  science  in  Europe.  He 
has  thoroughly  appreciated  their  teachings,  and  appropriated 
what  is  valuable  in  them.  But  he  brings  to  the  work  powers 
capable  of  advancing  the  march  of  philosophy,  and  shedding 
light  over  many  obscure  parts  of  the  field.  We  have  met  with 
many  views  of  entire  originality ;  wherever  we  find  an  opinion 
expressed  upon  any  incidental  subject,  it  is  marked  by  the  dis 
crimination  and  strength  of  a  powerful  mind :  and  when  sug 
gestions  from  the  writings  of  others  have  been  adopted,  they  are 
recast  in  the  depths  of  an  ardent  re  flection, 'and  given  forth  with 
fresh  beauty,  and  in  a  new  form. 

We  give  a  few  observations,  conceived  in  a  spirit  of  wise  and 
high-toned  philosophy,  explaining  the  title  of  the  work,  and 
showing  the  noble  practical  interest  towards  which  the  inquiry 
tends : 

"  Contempt  for  the  past,  especially  in  relation  to  civil  concerns,  is  an  error 
to  which,  from  obvious  causes,  American  society  is  peculiarly  exposed,  and 
which  it  therefore  becomes  the  duty  of  the  American  writer  to  combat.  We 
are  in  little  danger  of  falling  into  that  opposite  extreme,  which  in  Europe 
takes  the  form  of  high  conservatism,  and  with  desperate  perverseness  throws 
itself  into  direct  opposition  to  the  resistless  tendencies  of  modern  society. 
From  the  nature  of  the  case,  toryism  can  never  take  deep  root  in  American 
soil,  and  it  is  idle  to  aim  our  blows  at  an  imaginary  foe,  while  a  real  and  por 
tentous  tendency  threatens  the  extinction  of  all  reverence  for  the  past,  and 
with  it  all  that  ennobling  class  of  emotions,  which  are  allied  to  such  reverence 
as  their  parent  stock.  *  *  *  Some  are  absurd  enough  to  contend  for  what 
they  call  an  American  education,  which  shall  cut  us  off  from  the  past,  and 
cancel  all  our  obligations  to  the  old  world.  But  no  nation  ever  became  great 
by  this  process,  nor  ever  will.  We  must  recollect  that  if  we  can  see  a  little 
further  than  those  who  have  gone  before  us,  we  stand  upon  a  mental  pyramid 
piled  up  by  the  labors  of  countless  generations ;  that  it  is  our  business  to  carry 
it  still  farther  towards  heaven,  not  to  look  down  with  scorn  upon  the  grea*, 
works  of  our  predecessors,  or  become  little  in  the  contemplation  of  our  own 
greatness.  Other  nations  may  still  have  remnants  of  old  abuses  to  demolish, 
our  task  is  not  to  destroy,  but  to  preserve  and  build  up.  We  have  nothing  to 
spare  of  the  legacies  of  the  past.  *  *  *  The  human  mind  can  entertain  but 
one  passion  at  a  time,  sufficiently  overruling  and  intense  to  effect  great 

17* 


198  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [JEtAT.  30. 

changes  in  society ;  and  revolutionary  ardor  has  been  so  busy  with  the  work 
of  demolition,  that  it  is  not  wonderful  that  many  should  turn  their  backs  upon 
the  past,  forgetful  of  its  greatness,  and  of  their  obligations  to  it,  and  look  for 
ward  to  the  future  with  boundless  hopes  and  chimerical  schemes  for  the  radical 
regeneration  of  society.  Yet  there  is  nothing  more  certain,  than  that  no  moral 
or  political  organization,  wholly  severed  from  the  past,  can  live.  We  may 
repair  dilapidated  institutions,  from  time  to  time,  and  adapt  them  to  the  new 
exigencies  of  society ;  but  we  must  preserve  the  old  foundations,  the  great 
principles,  or  our  structure  will  not  stand  the  test  of  time  and  experience.  It 
is  the  order  of  Providence,  that  the  new  should  be  evolved  from  the  old  in 
such  a  manner,  that  the  life  and  soul  of  one  should  be  gradually  transfused 
into  the  other.  Great  revolutions  may  seem  to  interrupt  this  order  for  a  time, 
but  after  the  earthquake  has  rolled  away,  the  stream  resumes  its  former  chan 
nel,  only  clearer,  broader,  freer  from  obstructions  than  before." 

Mr.  Nourse  belongs  to  that  young  and  glorious  school  of 
nature  and  freedom,  which  has  succeeded  to  the  perverse  and 
malignant  skepticism  of  the  last  age.  His  mind  seems  to  be  tho 
roughly  delivered  from  the  wretched  metaphysics  which  enslaved 
the  politics  and  morals  of  the  day  just  gone  by ;  those  narrow 
ing  prejudices  of  parties,  sects  and  schools,  which  prevailed  so 
generally  as  to  suggest  to  an  observer,  that  thought,  instead  of 
being  the  freest  and  boldest  thing  in  the  universe,  is  the  most 
enfettered  and  cowardly.  The  disposition  to  believe — the  ten 
dency  to  recognize  a  wisdom  in  the  movements  of  the  world  at 
large — a  readiness  to  submit  individual  thought  to  the  higher 
and  grander  sagacity  that  dwells  in  society,  and  is  evolved  by 
experience — the  habitudes  of  sympathy,  and  love,  and  reverence 
— which  have  ever  been  the  characteristics  of  the  great,  guiding 
spirits  of  the  race — of  Plato,  Cicero,  Bacon  and  Burke — are  the 
line  attributes  of  this  new,  vigorous  class  of  thinkers, — among 
the  foremost  of  whom  we  confidently  place  the  author  of  the 
present  volume.  He  has  perceived  and  explored  the  character 
istics  of  that  higher,  broader,  and  deeper  sense  that  breathes 
from  the  providential  development  of  nations,  and  his  pen  moves 
with  the  energy  of  consciousness  and  genuine  sense.  The  West 
may  well  be  proud  of  a  man  whom  the  East  would  gladly 
select  as  a  representative  to  Europe  of  what  America  can  do  in 
philosophy. 

The  most  important  element  in  modern  civilization,  according 


.  30.]     NOURSE'S  LEGACIES  OF  THE  PAST.         199 

to  Mr.  Nourse,  is  Christianity :  and  the  following  remarks  in 
relation  to  the  nature  of  the  Evidences  of  Christianity  are  con 
ceived  in  the  spirit  of  a  profound  philosophy ;  worthy  of  the 
mind  of  Butler.  After  removing  some  of  the  metaphysical 
objections  to  miracles,  he  proceeds  : — 

"  But  the  truth  is,  that  much  more  importance  has  been  attached  to  the 
argument  from  miracles  than  it  deserves.  The  miracles  ascribed  to  Christ  and 
his  apostles,  however  conclusive  to  those  who  witnessed  them,  are  no  evidence 
to  us,  until  by  other  means,  we  have  established  the  truth  of  the  writings  which 
record  them — that  is  to  say,  until  we  have  proved  all  that  we  wish  to  prove. 
They  cannot  weigh  a  feather  with  any  clear-headed  inquirer,  who  does  not 
find  in  Christianity  a  supply  of  his  own  moral  wants,  the  proper  and  whole 
some  food  of  his  own  spiritual  nature,  and  the  source  of  countless  blessings  to 
society.  A  syllogism  may  suffice  for  a  single  barren  proposition  j  a  vast  sys 
tem  of  life-giving  truth,  like  Christianity,  draws  to  its  support  a  variety  of 
independent,  but  mutually  corrobating  testimonies.  Combining  the  early 
monuments  of  Christianity,  and  the  evidence  which  may  be  drawn  from  the 
history  of  the  Christian  civilization,  with  those  convictions  that  spring  up  in 
every  healthy  soul,  when  its  higher  faculties  are  roused  into  activity,  we  havo 
an  edifice  which  may  defy  the  assaults  of  skeptical  philosophy. 

"  One  mind  will  attach  greater  weight  to  one  portion  of  this  converging  evi 
dence;  another  to  another,  according  to  mental  constitution,  or  early  habits 
of  thinking.  It  is  probable  that,  for  the  majority  of  enlightened  believers  at 
the  present  day,  the  keystone  of  the  arch  which  spans  the  gulf  between  earth 
and  heaven,  is  that  sort  of  persuasion  in  which  deep  feeling  has  a  much  larger 
share  than  cold  logic. 

"The  most  indubitable  miracle  of  early  Christianity  was  the  heroic  self- 
devotion  of  its  first  propagators.  The  Apostle  of  the  Gentiles,  of  all  mere 
men  the  sublimest  example  of  moral  heroism,  travelled  from  place  to  place, 
supporting  himself  and  his  companions  by  the  labor  of  his  own  hands,  and 
preaching  the  truth  without  fee  or  reward ;  well  assured,  that  in  whatever  city 
he  entered,  bonds  and  afflictions  awaited  him.  He  fought  with  wild  beasts  at 
Ephesus;  he  braved  the  cruelty  of  the  Pagans  and  the  hatred  of  his  own 
countrymen ;  he  stood  undazzled  amid  the  classic  glories  of  Athens  and  the 
wonders  of  Grecian  art,  and  proclaimed  the  new  doctrine,  unmoved  by  the 
sneers  of  the  gayest,  the  most  refined,  the  most  intellectual  people  on  earth. 
Dragged  in  chains  before  the  proconsuls  of  Asia,  he  made  them  tremble  on 
their  judgment-seats  :  he  planted  the  cross  upon  the  seven  hills,  at  the  very 
gates  of  the  vast  palaces  of  those  terrible  Caesars,  who  made  the  world  trem 
ble  from  the  borders  of  Ethiopia  to  the  shores  of  the  German  Ocean ;  and 
crowned  his  glorious  life  by  a  painful  death  amidst  the  ferocious  sports  of  the 
amphitheatre  !" 

The  function  of  the  olden  nations,  in  Mr.  Nourse's  view,  wag 
to  prepare  the  race  for  the  introduction  and  diffusion  of  Christi- 


200  LITERARY    CRITICISMS.  [vErAT.  30. 


anity.  "  To  the  Hebrews,"  he  considers,  "was  allotted  the  cus 
tody  of  moral  and  religious  truth  ;  to  the  Greeks,  the  empire  of 
reason  and  imagination  ;  to  the  iron  Romans,  the  power  of  arms, 
by  which,  with  their  own  civil  institutions,  and  the  arts,  literature 
and  religion  of  the  other  two  nations,  they  were  to  lay  a  broad 
and  deep  foundation  for  the  Christian  civilization.  Upon  that 
foundation,  the  free  Germans  were  to  build  the  modern  world." 
Each  of  these  departments  of  partial  civilization  is  traced  with 
great  interest  and  beauty  in  the  first  chapter  of  the  work,  till 
they  come  together  at  the  Christian  era.  As  an  illustration  of 
the  vivid  and  various  sympathy  of  the  author's  mind,  which 
combines  the  love  and  power  of  art  with  the  insight  of  philoso 
phic  judgment,  and  recognizes  the  creative  energy  of  imagination 
and  sentiment  as  permanent  and  indispensable  parts  of  our  being, 
both  individually  and  socially,  we  extract  passages  relating  to 
the  dignity  of  Poetry,  the  poetical  capacities  of  real  life,  and 
the  artistic  resources  of  the  present  time  : 

"  It  is  a  remarkable  fact,  that  in  the  earliest  periods  of  civilization,  in  the 
robust  and  fervid  youth  of  great  nations,  Poetry,  that  divine  melody  of  thought 
and  words,  is  always  the  first  language  of  the  newly  awakened  intellect.  As 
civilization  advances,  and  the  cold  abstractions  of  science  take  the  life-like 
creations  of  the  imagination,  Poetry  withdraws  more  and  more  from  the  do 
main  of  the  understanding.  But  though  a  high  state  of  intellectual  cultiva 
tion  more  clearly  defines  the  respective  boundaries  of  science  and  poetry,  it  is 
by  no  means  necessarily  unfavorable  to  the  latter,  as  many  have  supposed. 
Poetry,  more  and  more  hemmed  in  by  reality,  finds  in  reality  new  and  inexhaus 
tible  resources. 

"  The  vulgar  and  trivial  details  of  actual  life  are  apt  to  blunt  our  perceptions 
of  its  greatness.  The  bright  dreams  of  youth,  and  the  thoughtful  sadness  of 
maturer  years  ,•  the  deep  communings  of  the  soul  with  nature  and  with  God  ; 
the  fond  loyalty  which  cherishes  the  memories  of  heroes  and  great  benefactors 
of  mankind  ;  self-sacrificing  patriotism  which  attaches  to  the  idea  of  country 
an  infinite  import,  and  sacred  obligations  ;  rapt  devotion,  whether  it  recognize 
the  Divine  Presence  in  the  Gothic  Cathedral,  amid  the  forest  aisles,  or  on  the 
sounding  sea-shore  ;  —  what  are  all  these  things,  but  the  rising  undulations  of 
that  deepest  part  of  our  mysterious  nature,  in  which  are  the  fountains  of  poetry 
and  religion  ? 

"  If  we  imagine  a  rational  creature,  upon  a  level  with  the  highest  of  our 
species,  to  reach  the  maturity  of  his  powers  in  another  state  of  being,  and  then 
to  have  all  his  perceptions  and  sensibilities  suddenly  opened  upon  this  world, 
in  any  of  its  brightest  or  most  fearful  aspects,  what  deep  thoughts,  what 


.  30.]    NOURSE'S  LEGACIES  OF  THE  PAST.         201 

childish  wonder,  love  or  awe  would  fill  his  whole  soul !  The  poetical  temper 
ament  preserves  in  a  greater  or  less  degree  this  child-like  freshness,  which  cus 
tom  withers  in  other  men  j  and  by  mysterious  affinities,  it  draws  to  itself  the 
poetry  of  life  and  nature  from  the  alloy  of  commonplace  ingredients.  It  is  un 
questionably  the  greatest  triumph  of  art  to  idealize  the -present;  for  distance 
either  in  time  or  space  renders  the  materials  of  poetry  more  pliant.  Through 
the  same  mists  that  conceal  from  us  the  vulgar  and  trivial  details,  the  grander 
features  of  the  scene  loom  up  into  shapes  of  beauty  or  terror. 

"  Consciously  or  unconsciously,  the  poetical  temperament  links  every  thing 
finite  and  perishable  with  the  infinite  and  imperishable,  and  our  little  life  here 
with  the  boundless  and  everlasting  existence  that  awaits  us.  Whatever  form 
poetry  may  take,  and  whatever  may  be  the  nature  of  the  materials  which 
it  draws  from  the  actual  world,  its  essential  inspiration  is  the  ineradicable 
desire  of  the  human  soul,  for  a  wider,  a  more  beautiful,  a  more  powerful  exist 
ence  than  the  present. 

"  When  the  poet  is  destitute  of  religious  faith,  the  mighty  cravings  of  his 
soul,  and  a  vivid  sense  of  the  frightful  discrepancy  between  the  aspirations 
and  the  supposed  destiny  of  man,  may  eat  into  his  heart,  tear  asunder  his 
whole  nature,  and  fever  it  into  despair,  madness,  or  suicide.  A  happier  creed 
may  overarch  life  with  the  rainbow  of  hope,  and  pour  over  nature  tho  light  of 
eternity.  In  either  case,  the  poet  filled  with  the  ideal,  and  with  that  infinite 
love  and  awe  which  only  the  ideal  can  inspire,  becomes  the  unconscious  prophet 
of  deeper  and  mightier  truths  than  the  boasted  deductions  of  science.  Even 
in  science,  no  great  thing  was  ever  done  by  a  man  who  had  not  a  spice  of 
poetry  in  him.  As  will  appear  more  fully  in  the  progress  of  our  inquiry,  those 
branches  of  art  and  literature  which  strive  to  embody  the  aspirations  of  man 
in  forms  of  ideal  beauty  or  power,  have  performed  a  very  important  part  in 
human  culture. 

"  Indeed,  the  history  of  Christianity  itself,  including  the  life  and  death  of 
its  Divine  Founder,  the  moral  heroism  ef  its  martyrs  and  apostles,  and  the 
long  warfare  which  it  has  waged  against  ignorance,  sin  and  misery,  is  a  mighty 
epic,  of  which  God  is  the  author ;  and  the  refinements  of  chivalry,  the  triumphs 
of  art,  and  the  glories  of  science,  are  the  episodes.  Religion  has  directly  or 
indirectly  been  the  source  of  that  poetry  of  action,  which  has  shed  a  never- 
dying  glory  over  the  great  and  stirring  periods  of  modern  history.  It  is  ob 
vious  that  we  use  the  term  Poetry  in  its  general  sense  of  passionate  recognition 
of  all  beautiful,  glorious,  and  sublime  things,  manifested,  not  only  in  verse, 
painting,  sculpture,  architecture,  but  anything  which  ennobles  man,  embellishes 
life,  or  refines  society,  provided  it  can  be  embodied  in  sensible  forms,  or  asso 
ciated  with  images  more  or  less  distinct.  Not  only  the  greatest  works  of  art, 
but  the  finest  traits  and  noblest  triumphs  of  civilization,  aro  manifestations  of 
that  divine  and  perennial  spirit  of  Poetry,  without  which  life  would  be  a  poor, 
despicable  round  of  sordid  cares  and  animal  gratifications." 

A  passage  which  occurs  in  the  writer's  appreciation  of  the 
peculiar  character  of  Roman  civilization,  is  profound  and  just ; 


202  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  30. 

"  He  who  sees  no  Divinity  in  the  affairs  of  men,  who  recognizes  no  Provi 
dential  guidance  of  nations,  will  refer  the  peculiar  manifestations  of  a  people 
to  organization,  to  institutions,  to  mere  external  and  mechanical  causes.  But 
among  a  people  who  enjoy  any  considerable  share  of  freedom,  institutions  and 
other  external  circumstances  are  rather  the  effects  than  the  causes  of  national 
peculiarities.  The  truth  lies  in  the  middle,  between  the  opposite  extremes  of 
the  mechanical  and  dynamical  theories,  or  rather  is  made  up  of  both.  Indi 
vidual  and  national  peculiarities  are  the  compound  results  of  inscrutable 
impulses  arising  in  the  mysterious  depths  of  spiritual  being,  and  of  internal 
circumstances,  acting  and  reacting  in  such  a  manner,  that  it  is  impossible  to 
assign  to  each  class  of  causes  their  intuitive  shares  in  the  product." 

His  conception  of  the  grand  elements  and  laws  by  whose 
action  history  is  evolved,  is  marked  by  the  finest  strength,  and 
fearlessness,  and  truth. 

"  Why  the  Omnipotent,"  he  remarks,  "  has  permitted  the  original  perfection 
of  his  own  workmanship  to  be  overthrown,  and  what  is  the  nature  of  that  dis 
turbing  force  which  has  brought  discord,  and  with  it  death  and  sorrow,  into 
the  world,  are  questions  which  must  return  upon  the  thinking  minds  of  each 
successive  generation,  in  all  their  original  perplexity,  because  they  admit  of 
no  satisfactory  answer  in  the  present  state  of  being.  So  far  as  the  Divine 
counsels  can  be  deciphered  from  the  facts  of  history,  nothing  is  clearer  than 
that  man  was  not  destined  for  the  tame  and  regular  manifestation  of  a  few 
genial  impulses  held  in  perfect  equilibrium  by  the  limiting  properties  of  his 
nature,  but  rather  for  a  vast,  tempestuous  existence,  resulting  from  the  polarity 
of  powerful  passions  and  antagonistic  tendencies.  Everywhere,  in  the  physical 
and  moral  world,  we  find  strife  and  antagonism,  inordinate  activity  of  forces 
followed  by  the  reaction  of  others  which  had  been  for  a  time  repressed." 

In  a  similar  spirit  is  a  passage  about  the  Crusades  introductory 
to  an  acute  and  able  summary  of  the  benefits  which  they  conferred 
on  European  society.  It  is  as  fine  a  specimen  of  fearless  thought 
and  noble  feeling  as  we  recollect  to  have  met  with  : 

"  Chivalry  reached  its  perfection  when  to  the  poetry  of  love  it  added  that 
poetry  of  devotion  which  gave  rise  to  the  Crusades.  What  avail  the  endless 
tirades  upon  the  folly  and  absurdity  of  the  Crusades  ?  Are  the  worship  of 
gold,  the  enterprises  of  commercial  ambition,  the  lust  of  territorial  aggrandize 
ment,  which  now  embroil  nations,  a  whit  more  respectable  than  the  poetical 
devotion  which  carried  the  chivalry  of  Europe  to  the  sepulchre  of  Christ? 
Wrhy  suffer  the  enterprises  of  sordid  and  earth-born  selfishness  to  pass  with 
perhaps  a  gentle  expression  of  disapprobation,  and  exhaust  the  vocabulary  of 
contempt  upon  the  offspring  of  great  and  generous  emotions  ?  No  doubt,  that 
inundation  of  fiery  valor  which  Europe  poured  upon  Asia,  was  turbid  enough 
with  profligacy  seeking  to  expiate  a  life  of  guilt  by  a  martial  pilgrimage  to  the 


.  30.]     NOURSE'S  LEGACIES  OF  THE  PAST.         203 

cradle  of  religion,  and  with  vague  hopes  of  reckless  adventurers  to  repair  their 
fortunes  and  gratify  their  passions  in  the  opulent  and  voluptuous  East.  What 
of  all  that  ?  Similar  facts  may  be  affirmed  of  every  large  body  of  men  that 
ever  assembled  on  earth ;  the  solemn  homilies  of  conscientious  and  respectable 
persons  upon  the  folly  and  wickedness  of  others,  are  to  the  last  degree  weari 
some  and  unprofitable.  It  is  not  in  this  manner  that  the  historical  philosopher 
contemplates  the  great  movements  of  society.  The  Crusaders  were  not  so 
foolish ;  and  those  wars  have  not  been  so  barren  of  beneficial  results  as  some 
short-sighted  persons  imagine. . 

"It  is  difficult  to  obtain  a  clear  insight  into  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of 
those  '  fervent  days  of  old,'  when  religious  faith,  instead  of  being  a  moral 
probability  floating  in  a  medium  of  metaphysical  abstraction,  and  patronized 
by  politicians  as  an  useful  auxiliary  to  law  in  the  preservation  of  social  order, 
was  a  warm  and  life-like  reality,  glowing  in  the  hearts,  and  living  in  the  daily 
business  of  men,  and  affording  the  most  powerful  incentives  to  action.  In 
modern  times,  the  poetry  of  devotion  has  been  so  much  sobered  by  motives 
belonging  to  the  present  state  of  being,  that  it  is  hard  to  tell  whether  the  chief 
sources  of  our  prudential  morality  are  in  earth  or  heaven.  Yet  there  is  no 
reason  why  the  self-complacent  shrewdness  of  this  rather  barren  and  prosaic 
age  of  transition,  should  be  particularly  lavish  of  pity  or  contempt  upon  half- 
enlightened,  but  still  glorious,  manifestations  of  those  high  properties  of  our 
nature,  which  distinguish  us  from  the  beasts  that  perish.  The  chivalric,  like 
the  heroic  ages,  exhibit  striking  contrasts  of  strong  lights  and  deep  shadows. 
The  conduct  of  men  who  are  guided  by  cool  calculations  of  profit  and  loss, 
will  in  general  have  an  even  tenor,  seldom  sinking  into  crime,  seldom  rising 
into  heroic  virtue.  But  ages  of  faith,  which  are  also  ages  of  fervent  and 
overmastering  impulses,  are  productive  of  splendid  virtues  and  dreadful  crimes, 
and  show  many  examples  of  those  powerful  but  irregular  natures  which  are 
great  alike  in  their  evil  and  their  good.  The  Crusades  were  an  universal 
sifting  and  shaking  up  of  the  chaotic  elements  of  society.  To  contemporaries 
they  may  have  appeared,  as  the  French  Revolution  did  to  persons  now  living, 
an  aimless  tempest  of  human  passions.  In  such  cases  we  observe  nothing  at 
first  but  the  eddying  of  hosts,  the  shock  of  arms,  the  clouds  of  dust,  and  gar 
ments  rolled  in  blood.  But  when  the  uproar  has  ceased,  and  the  clouds  have 
rolled  away,  a  new  world  is  disclosed,  and  we  find  that  many  time-honored 
abuses,  old  institutions  and  inveterate  prejudices  have  passed  away  forever." 

This  is  the  spirit  and  the  power  in  which  great  historical  in 
quiries  should  be  approached. 

In  the  chapter  entitled  "Night  and  Morning,"  Mr.  Nourse 
traces  with  consummate  ingenuity  and  ability,  the  progressive  evo 
lution  of  that  various  and  complicated  social  system  which  is  now 
illustrated  in  Europe.  Starting  from  the  period  when,  to  use 
his  own  striking  language,  "that  free  and  ethereal  essence,  which 
had  hitherto  bound  Christian  societies  together,  warming  each 


204  LITERARY  CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  30. 

heart  with  fire  from  heaven,  began  to  crystalize  into  a  church, 
with  an  organization  strong  enough  to  withstand  the  storms  that 
were  about  to  burst  upon  the  empire,  and  shelter  from  their  fury 
some  remnants  of  ancient  civilization,"  he  proceeds  to  appreciate 
the  effect  of  each  great  occurrence  in  the  next  fifteen  hundred 
years,  in  developing  those  institutions  and  that  liberty  which  now 
form  the  chracteristics  of  Europe. 

We  must  conclude  our  extracts  at  present  by  a  few  sentences 
respecting  the  influence  of  woman  during  the  middle  ages,  in 
educating  and  refining  society. 

"  The  remarks  in  our  former  discourse,  in  relation  to  the  unobtrusiveness 
of  the  greatest  and  most  durable  power,  apply  with  peculiar  force  to  the  con 
tributions  of  woman  to  the  progress  of  society.  Even  philosophic  historians 
have  been  far  from  doing  justice  to  female  influence,  because  from  the  nature 
of  the  case,  their  attention  is  chiefly  devoted  to  the  intrigues  of  courts,  the 
movements  of  armies,  the  doings  of  politicians,  the  bubbles  and  commotions 
of  the  surface  of  society.  But  kings,  heroes,  statesmen,  were  all  children 
once ;  and  no  one  need  be  told  that  in  the  quiet  shades  of  domestic  life  we 
must  look  for  the  springs  of  that  mighty  stream  which  bears  upon  its  troubled 
surface,  warriors  and  statesmen,  courts  and  armies,  republics  and  dynasties, 
and  all  the  multiform  institutions  and  transactions  of  civil  society. 

"  The  noblest  civilization  tends  to  bring  the  two  sexes  nearer  together  in 
regard  to  their  moral  and  intellectual  character.  The  highest  order  of  genius 
has  been  justly  said  to  combine  the  peculiarities  of  both  sexes;  the  vigorous 
understanding,  the  force  of  imagination,  the  energy  of  will,  that  distinguish 
the  one,  with  the  quick  perception,  the  intuitive  tact,  the  tenderness  and 
sensibility  of  the  other.  .  .  Aside  from  speculation,  the  peculiar  properties  of 
woman's  moral  and  intellectual  structure,  are  precisely  such  as  are  adapted, 
whenever  her  social  position  commands  respect,  and  favors  the  development 
of  her  powers,  to  smooth  the  asperities  of  man,  to  refine  and  elevate  his  senti 
ments,  and  to  entwine  his  rugged  strength  with  the  foliage  and  flowers  of 
tenderness  and  fancy.  There  is  nothing  which  so  calls  into  action  the  finest 
feelings  of  his  nature,  as  the  sense  of  being  leaned  upon,  aud  being  looked  up 
to  as  a  guardian,  by  a  being  so  graceful  in  her  timidity,  so  beautiful  in  her 
helplessness,  provided  her  virtue  commands  his  respect;  for,  if  she  be  not 
pure,  if  she  revere  not  herself,  she  may  have  the  protection,  but  never  the 
sincere  homage,  of  chivalry;  and  the  elegance  which  she  diffuses  over  society, 
only  renders  vice  more  attractive  by  divesting  it  of  its  grossness." 

Extracts  of  this  kind,  however,  convey  no  just  notion  of  the 
great  powers  of  expanded  and  sustained  thought  which  this 
author  exhibits  ;  but  his  exuberance  of  creative  vigor  frequently 
overflows  into  rich  forms  of  beautiful  conception,  as  pure  and 
glittering  as  amber. 


.  30.]         NOURSE'S    LEGACIES   OF   THE   PAST.  205 

[Extract  from  tJie  AiitJinr's  Unpublished  Correspondence.  From  George  P. 
Morris,  New  York,  August  2nd,  1848.  "  I  know  how  ready  you  are,  dear  Horace, 
to  do  honor  to  the  genius  of  our  American  youth,  and  to  advance  the  interests 
of  unfriended  worth  wherever  found.  You  write  a  paragraph,  occasionally,  I 
know — much  less  often  than  your  friends  could  wish — for  such  Philadelphia 
journals  as  you  happen  to  like.  I  send  you  by  express  a  copy  of  a  work  by 
a  young  man,  Mr.  J.  D.  Nourse,  of  Louisville,  Kentucky.  I  take  great  in 
terest  in  Nourse  :  he  is  a  noble  fellow,  very  modest,  and  I  wish  to  encourage 
him.  I  may  perhaps  be  somewhat  misled  by  the  partialities  of  feeling;  but 
I  think  that  bourse's  book  is  one  of  the  most  valuable  contributions  which 
the  youthful  genius  of  our  country  has  yet  made  to  a  high  order  of  literature. 
I  estimate  it  as  the  production  of  an  understanding  marked  by  superior  pene 
tration,  comprehensiveness,  sound  judgment,  and  decorative  fancy.  In  several 
places  his  speculations  seem  to  me  to  exhibit  a  combination  of  sentiment  with 
perception :  the  instincts  of  reason  are  animated  and  urged  on  by  imagina 
tion  and  feeling,  and  truth  is  presented  with  the  warmth  of  poetry.  But  it  is 
very  hard  to  make  people  in  the  East  believe  that  there  is  so  much  genius 
and  refinement  out  of  their  own  cities.  We  both  know  that  the  West  is  full  of 
genius.  I  have  done  what  I  could  to  make  Nourse  known  in  New  York.  He 
should  also  be  known  in  Philadelphia.  'Fire  up/  therefore,  my  dear  reliable — 
won't  you  ? — and  send  a  good  notice  of  the  book  to  some  journal  of  your  city, 
which  may  encourage  this  young  man  to  new  efforts.*  Write  so  as  to  startle 
public  opinion  a  little.  With  the  apathetic  dispositions  of  too  many,  this,  in 
the  case  of  an  unknown  and  very  modest  author,  is  necessary,  in  order  to 
produce  a  just  and  proper  effect,  or  indeed  any  effect  at  all.  It  is  not  easy 
to  over-praise  Nourse.  While  on  the  subject  of  our  native  genius,"  <fec.] 

*  Unfortunately  Mr.  Nourse's  career  was  a  short  one.  He  died  soon  after  the  publica 
tion  of  the  volume  here  commended. 

18 


LITEEAET    POETEAITS. 


GEORGE   P.  MORRIS. 

THE  distinction  with  which  the  name  of  General  Morris  is  now 
associated  in  a  permanent  connection  with  what  is  least  facti 
tious  or  fugitive  in  American  Art,  is  admitted  and  known ; 
but  the  class  of  young  men  of  letters  in  this  country,  at  present, 
can  hardly  appreciate  the  extent  to  which  they,  and  the  profes 
sion  to  which  they  belong,  are  indebted  to  his  animated  exer 
tions,  his  varied  talents,  his  admirable  resources  of  temper, 
during  a  period  of  twenty  years,  and  at  a  time  when  the  charac 
ter  of  American  litertature,  both  at  home  and  abroad,  was  yet 
to  be  formed.  The  first  great  service  which  the  literary  taste 
of  this  country  received,  was  rendered  by  Dennie  ;  a  remarkable 
man ;  qualified  by  nature  and  attainments  to  be  a  leader  in  new 
circumstances ;  fit  to  take  part  in  the  formation  of  a  national 
literature ;  as  a  vindicator  of  independence  in  thought,  able  to 
establish  freedom  without  disturbing  the  obligations  of  law  ;  as 
a  conservative  in  taste,  skilful  to  keep  the  tone  of  the  great  mo 
dels  with  which  his  studies  were  familiar,  without  copying  their 
style ;  by  both  capacities  successful  in  developing  the  one,  un 
changeable  spirit  of  Art,  under  a  new  form  and  with  new 
effects.  In  this  office  of  field-marshal  of  our  native  forces, 
General  Morris  succeeded  him  under  increased  advantages,  in 
some  respects  with  higher  powers,  in  a  different,  and  certainly 
a  vastly  more  extended  sphere  of  influence.  The  manifold  and 
lasting  benefits  which,  as  Editor  of  "  The  Mirror,"  Mr.  Morris  con 
ferred  on  art  and  artists  of  every  kind,  by  his  tact,  his  liberality, 
the  superiority  of  his  judgment,  and  the  vigor  of  his  abilities  j 

(JOT) 


208  LITERARY  PORTRAITS.  [JETAT.  28. 

by  the  perseverance  and  address  with  which  he  disciplined  a 
corps  of  youthful  writers  in  the  presence  of  a  constant  and  heavy 
fire  from  the  batteries  of  foreign  criticism  ;  by  the  rare  combina 
tion,  so  valuable  in  dealing  with  the  numerous  aspirants  in 
authorship  with  whom  his  position  brought  him  in  contact,  of  a 
quick,  true  eye  to  discern  in  the  modesty  of  some  nameless  manu 
script  the  future  promises  of  a  power  hardly  yet  conscious  of  it 
self,  a  discretion  to  guide  by  sound  advice,  and  a  generosity  to 
aid  with  the  most  important  kind  of  assistance;  the  fine  and 
open  temper  which  his  example  tended  to  inspire  into  the  re 
lations  of  literary  men  with  one  another  throughout  the  land ; 
and  more  than  all,  perhaps,  by  the  harmony  and  union,  of  such 
inappreciable  value,  especially  in  the  beginning  of  national  effort, 
between  the  several  sister  arts  of  writing,  music,  painting  and 
dramatic  exhibition,  which  the  singular  variety  and  discursiveness 
of  his  intellectual  sympathies  led  him  constantly  to  maintain  and 
vindicate ;  these,  in  the  multiplicity  of  their  operation,  and  the 
full  power  of  their  joint  effect,  can  be  perfectly  understood  only 
by  those  who  possessed  a  contemporaneous  knowledge  of  the 
circumstances,  and  who,  remembering  the  state  of  things  at  the 
commencement  of  the  period  alluded  to,  and  observing  what  ex 
isted  at  the  end  of  it,  are  able  to  look  back  over  the  whole  in 
terval,  and  see  to  what  influences  and  what  persons  the  extra 
ordinary  change  which  has  taken  place,  is  to  be  referred.  If,  at 
this  moment,  the  literary  genius  of  America,  renewed  in  youth, 
and  quivering  like  the  eagle's  limbs  with  excess  of  vigor,  seems 
about  to  make  a  new  flight,  from  a  higher  vantage-ground,  into 
loftier  depths  of  airy  distance,  the  capacity  to  take  that  flight 
must,  to  a  great  degree,  be  ascribed  to  those  two  persons  whom 
we  have  named ;  without  whose  services  the  brighter  era  which 
appears  now  to  be  dawning,  might  yet  be  distant  and  doubtful. 
Besides  these  particulars  of  past  effort,  which  ought  to  make 
his  countrymen  love  the  reputation  of  the  subject  of  this  notice, 
we  regret  that  our  limits  forbid  us  to  speak  at  large  of  those 
more  intimate  qualities  of  personal  value,  which,  in  our  judg 
ment,  form  the  genuine  lustre  of  one  who,  admirable  for  other 
attainments,  is  to  be  imitated  in  these. 


.  28.]  GEORGE  P.  MORRIS.  209 

To  us  it  is  an  instinctive  feeling  that  a  wrong  is  done  to  the 
proper  grandeur  of  our  complex  nature — that  a  violence  is 
offered  to  the  higher  consciousness  of  our  immortal  being, — 
whenever  an  intellectual  quality  is  extolled  to  the  neglect  of 
a  moral  one.  Moral  excellence  is  the  most  real  genius  ;  and  a 
temper  to  cope  and  calmly  baffle  the  multitudinous  assaults  of 
the  spiritual  enmity  of  active  life,  is  a  talent  which  outshines  all 
praise  of  mental  endowments.  Unhappily,  the  biography  of  lite 
rary  creators  affords  few  occasions  in  which  a  feeling  of  this 
kind  can  be  indulged  and  gratified :  that  sensibility  of  mental 
apprehension  which  is  the  fame  of  the  author,  is  usually  attended 
by  a  susceptibility  of  passionate  impression  which  is  the  fate  of 
the  man ;  and  earth  and  sense  delight  to  wreak  their  destructive 
vengeances  upon  the  spiritual  nature  of  him,  of  whose  intellectual 
being  they  are  the  slaves  and  the  sport.  In  the  present  instance, 
we  are  concerned  with  a  character, — totus,  teres,  atque  rotundus; 
which  may  be  looked  upon,  from  every  side,  with  an  equal  satis 
faction.  Search  the  wide  world  over,  and  you  shall  not  find 
among  the  literary  men  of  any  nation,  one  on  whom  the  dignity 
of  a  free  and  manly  spirit  sits  with  a  grace  more  native  and  fa 
miliar, — whose  spontaneous  sentiments  have  a  truer  tone  of 
nobleness, — the  course  of  whose  usual  feelings  is  more  expanded 
and  honorable, — whose  acts,  whether  common  and  daily,  or  de 
liberate  and  much-considered,  are  wont  at  all  times  to  be  more 
beautifully  impressed  with  those  marks  of  sincerity,  of  modesty, 
and  of  justice,  which  form  the  very  seal  of  worth  in  conduct. 
Those  jealousies,  and  littlenesses,  and  envyings,  which  prey  upon 
the  spirits  of  many  men,  as  the  vulture  on  the  heart  of  the 
chained  Prometheus, — and  whose  fierce  besetment  they  who  will 
be  magnanimous,  have  to  fight  off,  as  one  drives  away  the  eagles 
from  their  prey,  with  voice  and  gestures — seem  never  to  assail 
him.  It  is  the  happiness  of  his  nature  to  have  that  only  absolute 
deliverance  from  evil  which  is  implied  in  being  rendered  in 
sensible  to  temptation.  While  the  duty  which  is  laid  upon  us,  in 
this  paper,  mainly  is  to  open  and  set  forth  his  poetic  praises  ana 
claim  the  laurel  for  his  literary  merits  ;  when  the  crown  of  song 
is  to  be  conferred  upon  him,  we  shall  interpose  to  beg  that  the 
18* 


210  LITERARY  PORTRAITS.  [^TAT.  28. 

chaplet  may  be  accompanied  by  some  mark,  or  some  inscription 
which  shall  declare, 

te  tfje  wtoatfd  of  moral 


For  the  success  of  our  special  purpose,  in  this  notice,  which 
is  to  consider  and  make  apparent  the  specific  character  which 
belongs  to  General  Morris  as  a  literary  artist  and  a  poetic 
creator,  to  explain  his  claims  to  that  title  which  the  common 
voice  of  the  country  has  given  to  him,  —  of  THE  SONG-WRITER  OP 
AMERICA  —  it  would  have  probably  been  more  judicious  had  we 
kept  out  of  view  the  matters  of  which  we  have  just  spoken.  It 
is  recorded  of  a  Grecian  painter,  that  having  completed  the 
picture  of  a  sleeping  nymph,  he  added  on  the  foreground  the 
figure  of  a  satyr  gazing  in  amazement  upon  her  beauty  ;  but 
finding  that  the  secondary  form  attracted  universal  praise,  he 
erased  it,  as  diverting  applause  from  that  which  he  desired  to 
have  regarded  as  the  principal  monument  of  his  skill.  There  is 
in  this  anecdote  a  double  wisdom.  ;  the  world  is  as  little  willing 
to  yield  to  a  twofold  superiority  as  it  is  able  to  appreciate  two 
distinct  objects  at  once. 

In  a  review  of  literary  reputations,  perhaps  nothing  is  fitted 
to  raise  more  surprise  than  the  obvious  inequality  in  the  extent 
and  greatness  of  the  labors  to  which  an  equal  reward  of  fame 
has  been  allotted.  The  abounding  energy  and  picturesque  va 
riety  of  Homer  are  illustrated  in  eight-and-forty  books  :  the  re 
mains  of  Sappho  might  be  written  on  the  surface  of  a  leaf  of 
the  laurus  nobilis.  Yet  if  the  one  expands  before  us  with  the 
magnificent  extent,  the  diversified  surface,  the  endless  decorations 
of  the  earth  itself,  the  other  hangs  on  high,  like  a  lone,  clear 
star  —  small  but  intense  —  flashing  upon  us  through  the  night  of 
ages,  invested  with  circumstances  of  divinity  not  less  unquestion 
able  than  those  which  attend  the  venerable  majesty  of  the  Ancient 
of  Song.  The  rich  and  roseate  light  that  shines  around  the 
name  of  Mimnermus,  is  shed  from  some  dozen  or  twenty  lines  :  the 
immortality  of  Tyrta?us  rests  upon  a  stanza  or  two,  which  have 
floated  to  us  with  their  precious  freight,  over  the  sea  of  centuries, 
and  will  float  on;  unsubmergible  by  all  the  waves  of  Time.  The 


28.]  GEORGE  P.  MORRIS.  211 

soul  of  Simonictes  lives  to  us  in  a  single  couplet ;  but  that  is  very 
gtuff  of  Eternity,  which  neither  fire  will  assoil,  nor  tempests 
peril,  nor  the  wrath  of  years  impair.  The  Infinite  has  no  de 
grees  ;  wherever  the  world  sees  in  any  human  spirit  the  fire  of 
the  Everlasting,  it  bows  with  equal  awe,  whether  that  fire  is  dis 
played  by  only  an  occasional  flash,  or  by  a  prolonged  and  dif 
fusive  blaze.  There  is  a  certain  tone  which,  hear  it  when  we 
may,  and  where  we  may,  we  know  to  be  the  accent  of  the  gods  : 
and  whether  its  quality  be  shown  in  a  single  utterance,  or  its 
volume  displayed  in  a  thousand  bursts  of  music,  we  surround 
the  band  of  spirits  whom  we  there  detect  in  their  mortal  disguise, 
with  equal  ceremonies  of  respect  and  worship,  hailing  them 
alike  as  seraphs  of  a  brighter  sphere — sons  of  the  morning.  This 
is  natural,  and  it  is  reasonable.  Genius  is  not  a  degree  of  other 
qualities,  nor  is  it  a  particular  way  or  extent  of  displaying  such 
qualities ;  it  is  a  faculty  by  itself ;  it  is  a  manner,  of  which  we 
may  judge  with  the  same  certainty  from  one  exhibition,  as  from 
many.  The  praise  of  a  poet,  therefore,  is  to  be  determined  not 
by  the  nature  of  the  work  which  he  undertakes,  but  by  the  kind 
of  mastery  which  he  shows  ;  not  by  the  breadth  of  surface  over 
which  he  toils,  but  by  the  perfectness  of  the  result  which  he  at 
tains.  Mr.  Wordsworth  has  vindicated  the  capacity  of  the  son 
net  to  be  a  casket  of  the  richest  gems  of  fame.  We  have  no 
doubt  that  the  song  may  give  evidence  of  a  genius  which  shall 
deserve  to  be  ranked  with  the  constructor  of  an  epic.  "  Scorn 
not  the  Song."  We  would  go  so  far,  indeed,  as  to  say  that  suc 
cess  in  the  song  imports,  necessarily,  a  more  inborn  and  genuine 
gift  of  poetic  conception,  than  the  same  proportion  of  success  in 
other  less  simple  modes  of  art.  There  are  some  sorts  of  compo 
sition  which  may  be  wrought  out  of  eager  feeling  and  the  foam 
of  excited  passions ;  and  which  are  therefore  to  a  large  extent 
within  the  reach  of  earnest  sensibilities  and  an  ambitious  will ; 
others  are  the  spontaneous  outflow  of  the  heart,  to  whose  per 
fection,  turbulence  and  effort  are  fatal.  Of  the  latter  kind  is  the 
song.  While  the  ode  allows  of  exertion  and  strain,  what  is  done 
in  it  must  be  accomplished  by  native  and  inherent  strength. 
Speaking  with  that  confidence  which  may  not  improperly  bo 


212  LITERARY   PORTRAITS.  [JErAT.  28. 

assumed  by  one  who,  having  looked  with  some  care  at  the  foun 
dations  of  the  opinion  which  he  expresses,  supposes  himself  able, 
if  called  upon  by  a  denial,  to  furnish  such  demonstration  of  its 
truth  as  the  nature  of  the  matter  allows  of,  we  say  that,  in 
our  judgment,  there  is  no  professed  writer  of  songs,  in  this  day, 
who  has  conceived  the  true  character  of  this  delicate  and  pecu 
liar  creation  of  art,  with  greater  precision  and  justness  than  Mr. 
Morris,  or  been  more  felicitous  than  he  in  dealing  with  the 
subtle  and  multiform  difficulties  that  beset  its  execution.  It  is 
well  understood  by  those  whose  thoughts  are  used  to  be  con 
versant  with  the  suggestions  of  a  deeper  analysis  than  belongs 
to  popular  criticism,  that  the  forms  of  literary  art  are  not  indefinite 
in  number,  variable  in  their  characteristics,  or  determined  by  the 
casual  taste  or  arbitrary  will  of  authors :  they  exist  in  nature ; 
they  are  dependent  upon  those  fixed  laws  of  intellectual  being, 
of  spiritual  affection,  and  moral  choice,  which  constitute  the 
rationality  of  man.  And  the  actual,  positive  merit  of  a  poetical 
production — that  real  merit,  which  consists  in  native  vitality,  in 
inherent  capacity  to  live — does  not  lie  in  the  glitter  or  costli 
ness  of  the  decorations  with  which  it  is  invested — nor  in  the 
force  with  which  it  is  made  to  spring  from  the  mind  of  its  crea 
tor  into  the  minds  of  others — nor  yet  in  the  scale  of  magnitude 
upon  which  the  ideas  belonging  to  the  subject  are  illustrated  in 
the  work ;  but  rather,  as  we  suppose,  obviously,  and  in  all  cases, 
upon  the  integrity  and  truth  with  which  the  particular  form 
that  has  been  contemplated  by  the  artist,  is  brought  out,  and  the 
distinctness  with  which  that  one  specific  impression  which  is  ap 
propriate  to  it,  is  attained.  This  is  the  kind  of  excellence  which 
we  ascribe  to  Mr.  Morris  ;  an  excellence  of  a  lofty  order ;  genuine, 
sincere,  and  incapable  of  question ;  more  valuable  in  this  class 
of  composition  than  in  any  other,  because  both  more  important 
and  more  difficult.  For  the  song  appears  to  us  to  possess  a 
definiteness  peculiarly  jealous  and  exclusive  ;  to  be  less  flexible 
in  character  and  to  permit  less  variety  of  tone  than  most  other 
classes  of  composition.  If  a  man  shall  say,  "  I  will  put  more 
force  into  my  song  than  your  model  allows,  I  will  charge  it  with 
greater  variety  of  impressions,"  it  is  well ;  if  he  is  skilful,  he  may 


JErAT.  28.]  GEORGE  P.  MORRIS.  213 

make  something  that  is  very  valuable.  But  in  so  far  as  his  work 
is  more  than  a  song,  it  is  not  a  song.  In  all  works  of  Art — 
wherever  form  is  concerned — excess  is  error. 

The  just  notion  and  office  of  the  modern  song,  as  we  think  of 
it,  is  to  be  the  embodiment  and  expression,  in  beauty,  of  some 
one  of  those  sentiments  or  thoughts,  gay,  moral,  pensive,  joy 
ous,  or  melancholy,  which  are  as  natural  and  appropriate,  in 
particular  circumstances,  or  to  certain  occasions,  as  the  odor  to 
the  flower ;  rising  at  such  seasons,  into  the  minds  of  all  classes 
of  persons,  instinctive  and  unbidden,  yet  in  obedience  to  some 
law  of  association  which  it  is  the  gift  of  the  poet  to  apprehend. 
Its  graceful  purpose  is  to  exhibit  an  incident  in  the  substance 
of  an  emotion,  to  communicate  wisdom  in  the  form  of  sentiment ; 
it  is  the  refracted  gleam  of  some  wandering  ray  from  the  fair  orb 
of  moral  truth,  which,  glancing  against  some  occurrence  in  com 
mon  life,  is  surprised  into  a  smile  of  quick-darting,  many-colored 
beauty ;  it  is  the  airy  ripple  that  is  thrown  up  when  the  current 
of  feeling  in  human  hearts  accidentally  encounters  the  current 
of  thought,  and  bubbles  forth  with  a  gentle  fret  of  sparkling 
foam.  Self-evolved,  almost,  and  obedient  in  its  development 
and  shaping  to  some  inward  spirit  of  beauty  which  appears  to 
possess  and  control  its  course,  it  might  almost  seem  that,  in  the 
outgoing  loveliness  of  such  productions,  sentiment,  made  sub 
stantial  in  language,  floated  abroad  in  natural  self-delivery  ;  as 
that  heat  which  is  not  yet  flame,  gives  itself  forth  in  blue 
wreaths  of  vaporous  grace,  which  unfold  their  delicateness  for  a 
moment  upon  the  tranquil  air,  and  then  vanish  away.  It  is 
not  an  artificial  structure  built  up  by  intellect  after  a  model 
foreshaped  by  fancy,  or  foreshadowed  by  the  instincts  of  the 
passions ;  it  is  a  simple  emotion,  crystalled  into  beauty  by 
passing  for  a  moment  through  the  cooler  air  of  the  mind ;  it  is 
merely  an  effluence  of  creative  vigor ;  a  graceful  feeling  thick 
ened  into  words.  Its  proper  dwelling  is  in  the  atmosphere  of 
the  sentiments,  not  the  passions ;  it  will  not,  indeed,  repel  the 
sympathy  of  deeper  feelings,  but  knows  them  rather  under  the 
form  of  the  flower  that  floats  upon  the  surface  of  meditation, 
than  of  the  deeper  root  that  lies  beneath  its  stream.  And  this 


214  LITERARY  PORTRAITS.  [JEtAT.  28. 

is  the  grievous  fault  of  nearly  all  Lord  Byron's  melodies ;  that 
he  pierces  too  profoundly,  and  passes  below  the  region  of  grace, 
charging  his  lyre  with  far  more  vehemence  of  passion  than  its 
slight  strings  are  meant  to  bear.  The  beauty  which  belongs  to 
this  production,  should  be  in  the  form  of  the  thought  rather 
than  the  fashion  of  the  setting  :  that  genuineness  and  simplicity 
of  character  which  constitute  almost  its  essence,  are  destroyed 
by  any  appearance  of  the  cold  artifices  of  construction,  palpable 
springes  set  for  our  admiration,  whereby  the  beginning  is  obvi 
ously  arranged  in  reference  to  a  particular  ending.  This  is  the 
short-reaching  power  of  Moore — guilty,  by  design,  of  that  de 
parture  from  simplicity,  by  which  he  fascinated  one  generation 
at  the  expense  of  being  forgotten  by  another.  The  song,  while 
it  is  general  in  its  impression,  should  be  particular  in  its  occa 
sion  ;  not  an  abstraction  of  the  mind,  but  a  definite  feeling, 
special  to  some  certain  set  of  circumstances.  Rising  from  out 
the  surface  of  daily  experience,  like  the  watery  issuings  of  a 
fountain,  it  throws  itself  upward  for  a  moment,  then  descends 
in  a  soft,  glittering  shower  to  the  level  whence  it  rose.  Herein 
resides  the  chief  defect  of  Bayly's  songs  ;  that  they  are  too 
general  and  vague. — a  species  of  pattern  songs — being  embodi 
ments  of  some  general  feeling,  or  reflection,  but  lacking  that 
sufficient  reference  to  some  season  or  occurrence  which  would 
justify  their  appearing,  and  take  away  from  them  the  aspect  of 
pretension  and  display. 

Let  us  speak  at  greater  length  of  Moore.  He  is  a  person  of 
acknowledged  brilliance  and  unquestionable  ingenuity  :  he  pos 
sesses  that  fertility  of  invention  and  exhaustless  play  of  fancy, 
which  are  the  usual  endowment  of  his  countrymen,  and  which, 
in  another  field  of  display,  have  stamped  upon  the  oratory  of 
the  language,  the  features  of  a  national  characteristic.  But  his 
taste  is  vicious,  even  to  an  advanced  stage  of  disease ;  and  he 
farther  corrupted  it  by  indulging  his  youthful  appetency  upon 
the  luscious  banquets  of  those  amatory  poets,  sophists,  and 
letter- writers,  who  were  engendered  of  the  soft  decay  of  Greek 
civility,  and  whom  the  scholar  fears  even  to  touch  with  a 
momentary  attention.  He  must  have  studied  the  costume  of  the 


.  28.]  GEORGE  P.  MORRIS.  215 

heralds  at  a  coronation  :  as  his  model  of  decorous  elegance, 
he  might  seem  to  have  had  his  eye  upon  the  Lord  Mayor's 
state-coach,  to  which  type,  in  some  of  his  works,  he  has  certainly 
approached  with  singular  felicity  of  imitation.  Unhappily  for 
the  fate  of  his  name  in  the  hands  of  succeeding  critics,  he  di 
rected  this  superabundance  of  powers  to  a  department  of  effort 
which  enacts,  before  all  other  things,  as  an  indispensable  pre 
requisite  to  anything  like  valuable  success,  a  taste,  keen,  severe, 
relentless  in  rejection  ;  in  which,  judgment  is  more  than  force, 
and  discretion  better  than  wealth  ;  where,  in  the  eye  of  a  just 
criticism,  barrenness  is  a  paler  fault  than  superfluity.  He  in 
vested  his  talents  in  that  cheaply-splendid  finery  of  spurious 
feeling,  that  glittering  varnish  of  unreal  fancy,  which  made  the 
fortune  of  his  reputation  in  this  age,  but  will  assuredly  play  the 
bankrupt  with  it  in  the  next.  Those  tricks  of  words — that  clinking 
jugglery  of  sounds — those  faded  extravagances  of  "  diamonds  of 
thought,"  and  "roses  of  feeling,"  of  bowers  and  zephyrs  of 
cupids — which  once  ravished  the  imagination  of  the  youth 
of  our  land, — to  as  now  are  spangles  looked  at  by  daylight ; 
they  are  those  strongly-scented  flowers  which  enchant  us  at  night, 
to  disgust  in  the  morning.  Mr.  Moore's  conception  of  greatness 
does  not  consist  in  some  one,  simple,  broad,  and  majestic  effect, 
but,  as  Walpole  described  the  old  Versailles,  in  "  a  lumber  of 
littleness."  In  short,  Moore  thought  that  he  was  elegant  when 
in  truth  he  was  flaunting,  and  feared  he  might  be  Asiatic, 
while  he  was  only  Irish. 

The  only  satisfactory  method  of  criticism  is  by  means  of 
clinical  lectures  ;  and  we  feel  regret  that  our  limits  do  not  suffer 
us — to  any  great  degree — to  illustrate  what  we  deem  the  vigor 
ous  simplicity,  and  genuine  grace  of  Mr.  Morris,  by  that 
mode  of  exposition.  We  must  introduce  a  few  cases,  however, 
to  show  what  we  have  been  meaning  in  the  remarks  which  we 
made  above,  upon  the  proper  character  of  the  song.  The  ballad  of 
"  Woodman,  Spare  that  Tree," — one  of  those  accidents  of  genius 
which,  however,  never  happen  but  to  consummate  artists — is  so 
familiar  to  every  mind  and  heart,  as  to  resent  citation.  Take, 
then,  "My  Mother's  Bible."  We  know  of  no  similar  production 


216  LITERARY  PORTRAITS.  [^TAT.  28. 

in  a  truer  taste,  in  a  purer  style,  or  more  distinctly  marked  with 
the  character  of  a  good  school  of  composition. 

This  book  is  all  that's  left  me  now  !— 

Tears  will  unbidden  start — 
With  faltering  lip  and  throbbing  brow, 

I  press  it  to  my  heart. 
For  many  generations  past, 

Here  is  our  family  tree; 
My  mother's  hands  this  Bible  clasp'dj 

She,  dying,  gave  it  me. 

Ah  !  well  do  I  remember  those 

Whose  names  these  records  bear 
Who  round  the  hearth-stone  used  to  close 

After  the  evening  prayer, 
And  speak  of  what  these  pages  said, 

In  tones  my  heart  would  thrill ! 
Though  they  are  with  the  silent  dead, 

Here  are  they  living  still ! 

My  father  read  this  holy  book 

To  brothers,  sisters  dearj 
How  calm  was  my  poor  mother's  look, 

Who  lean'd  God's  word  to  hear ! 
Her  angel  face — I  see  it  yet ! 

What  thronging  memories  come ! 
Again  that  little  group  is  met 

Within  the  halls  of  home  ! 

Thou  truest  friend  man  ever  knew, 

Thy  constancy  I've  tried  ; 
Where  all  were  false  I  found  thee  true, 

My  counsellor  and  guide. 
The  mines  of  earth  no  treasures  give 

That  could  this  volume  buy  : 
In  teaching  me  the  way  to  live, 

It  taught  me  how  to  die. 

Or  take  "We  were  Boys  together."     In  manly  pathos,  in  ten 
derness  and  truth,  where  shall  it  be  excelled  ? 

We  were  boys  together, 

And  never  can  forget 
The  school-house  on  the  heather, 

In  childhood  where  we  met — 


2ETAT.  28.]  GEORGE  P.  MORRIS.  21 1 

The  humble  home,  to  memory  dear; 

Its  sorrows  and  its  joys, 
Where  woke  the  transient  smile  or  tear 

When  you  and  I  were  boys. 

We  were  youths  together, 

And  castles  built  in  air ; 
Your  heart  was  like  a  feather, 

And  mine  weigh'd  down  with  care. 
To  you  came  wealth  with  manhood's  prime, 

To  me  it  brought  alloys 
Foreshadow'd  in  the  primrose  time 

When  you  and  I  were  boys. 

We're  old  men  together; 

The  friends  we  loved  of  yore, 
With  leaves  of  autumn  weather, 

Are  gone  forever  more. 
How  blest  to  age  the  impulse  given — 

The  hope  time  ne'er  destroys — 
Which  led  our  thoughts  from  earth  to  heaven, 

When  you  and  I  were  boys  ! 

"  The   Miniature"  possesses  the    captivating    elegance    of 
Voiture. 

William  was  holding  in  his  hand 

The  likeness  of  his  wife — 
Fresh  as  if  touch'd  by  fairy  wand, 

With  beauty,  grace  and  life. 
He  almost  thought  it  spoke — he  gazed 

Upon  the  treasure  still  ; 
Absorb'd,  delighted  and  amazed, 

He  view'd  the  artist's  skill. 

"  This  picture  is  yourself,  dear  Jane  ; 

'Tis  drawn  to  nature  true ; 
I've  kissed  it  o'er  and  o'er  again, 

It  is  so  much  like  you." 
"And  has  it  kissed  you  back,  my  dear?" 

"  Why — no — my  love  1"  said  he. 
"  Then,  William,  it  is  very  clear, 
'Tis  not  at  all  like  me  '" 

"  Where  Hudson's  Wave"  is  a  glorious  burst  of  poetry,  mod 
ulated  into  refinement  by  the  hand  of  a  master. 
19 


218  LITERARY  PORTRAITS.  [£!TAT.  28. 

Where  Hudson's  wave  o'er  silvery  sands 

Winds  through  the  hills  afar, 
Old  Cronest  like  a  monarch  stands, 

Crown'd  with  a  single  star ! 
And  there,  amid  the  billowy  swells 

Of  rock-ribb'd,  cloud-capt  earth, 
My  fair  and  gentle  Ida  dwells, 

A  nymph  of  mountain  birth. 

The  snow-flake  that  the  cliff  receives, 

The  diamonds  of  the  showers, 
Spring's  tender  blossoms,  buds,  and  leaves, 

The  sisterhood  of  flowers, 
Morn's  early  beam,  eve's  balmy  breeze, 

Her  purity  define ; 
But  Ida's  dearer  far  than  these 

To  this  fond  breast  of  mine. 

My  heart  is  on  the  hills.     The  shades 

Of  night  are  on  my  brow : 
Ye  pleasant  haunts  and  quiet  glades, 

My  soul  is  with  you  now ! 
I  bless  the  star-crown'd  highlands  where 

My  Ida's  footsteps  roam — 
Oh !  for  a  falcon's  wing  to  bear 

Me  onward  to  my  home. 

Where  will  you  find  a  nautical  song,  seemingly  more  sponta 
neous  in  its  genial  outbreak,  really  more  careful  in  its  construc 
tion,  than  "Land-ho  1" 

Up,  up  with  the  signal !     The  land  is  in  sight ! 

We'll  be  happy,  if  never  again,  boys,  to-night ! 

The  cold,  cheerless  ocean  in  safety  we've  passed, 

And  the  warm  genial  earth  glads  our  vision  at  last. 

In  the  land  of  the  stranger  true  hearts  we  shall  find, 

To  soothe  us  in  absence  of  those  left  behind. 

Land  ! — land-ho  !     All  hearts  glow  with  joy  at  the  sight ! 

We'll  be  happy,  if  never  again,  boys,  to-night ! 

The  signal  is  leaving  !     Till  morn  we'll  remain, 

Then  part  in  the  hope  to  meet  one  day  again 

Round  the  hearth-stone  of  home  in  the  land  of  our  birth, 

The  holiest  spot  on  the  face  of  the  earth  ! 

Dear  country  !  our  thoughts  are  as  constant  to  thee, 

As  the  steel  to  the  star,  or  the  stream  to  the  sea. 

Ho  ! — land-ho !     We  near  it — we  bound  at  the  sight 

Then  be  happy,  if  never  again,  boys,  to-night! 


.  28.]  GEORGE  P.  MORRIS.  219 

The  signal  is  ansicer'd  !     The  foam-sparkles  rise 

Like  tears  from  the  fountain  of  joy  to  the  eyes ! 

May  rain-drops  that  fall  from  the  storm-clouds  of  care, 

Melt  away  in  the  sun-beaming  smiles  of  the  fair  ! 

One  health,  as  chime  gaily  the  nautical  bells, 

To  woman — God  bless  her ! — wherever  she  dwells  ! 

THE  PILOT'S  ON  BOARD  ! — and,  thank  Heaven,  all's  right ! 

So  be  happy,  if  never  again,  boys,  to-night ! 

How  full  of  the  joyous  madness  of  absolute  independence,  yet 
made  harmonious  by  instinctive  grace,  is  "  Life  in  the  West  1" 

Ho !  brothers — come  hither  and  list  to  my  story — 

Merry  and  brief  will  the  narrative  be  : 
Here,  like  a  monarch,  I  reign  in  my  glory — 

Master  am  I,  boys,  of  all  that  I  see, 
Where  once  frown'd  a  forest  a  garden  is  smiling — 

The  meadow  and  moorland  are  marshes  no  more; 
And  there  curls  the  smoke  of  my  cottage,  beguiling 

The  children  who  cluster  like  grapes  at  the  door. 
Then  enter,  boys ;  cheerly,  boys,  enter  and  rest; 
The  land  of  the  heart  is  the  land  of  the  west. 
Oho,  boys  ! — oho,  boys ! — oho  ! 

Talk  not  of  the  town,  boys — give  me  the  broad  prairie, 
Where  man  like  the  wind  roams  impulsive  and  free ; 

Behold  how  its  beautiful  colors  all  vary, 

Like  those  of  the  clouds,  or  the  deep-rolling  sea. 

A  life  in  the  woods,  boys,  is  even  as  changing ; 
.  With  proud  independence  we  season  our  cheer, 

And  those  who  the  world  are  for  happiness  ranging, 
Won't  find  it  at  all,  if  they  don't  find  it  here. 

Then  enter,  boys;  cheerly,  boys,  enter  and  rest; 

I'll  show  you  the  life,  boys,  we  live  in  the  west. 
Oho,  boys  ! — oho,  boys  ! — oho ! 

Here,  brothers,  secure  from  all  turmoil  and  danger, 

We  reap  what  we  sow,  for  the  soil  is  our  own ; 
We  spread  hospitality's  board  for  the  stranger, 

And  care  not  a  fig  for  the  king  on  his  throne. 
We  never  know  want,  for  we  live  by  our  labor, 

And  in  it  contentment  and  happiness  find ; 
We  do  what  wo  can  for  a  friend  or  a  neighbor, 

And  die,  boys,  in  peace  and  good-will  to  mankind. 
Then  enter,  boys;  cheerly,  boys,  enter  and  rest; 
Tou  know  how  we  live,  boys,  and  die  in  the  west ! 
Oho,  boys  ! — oho,  boys  ! — oho  ! 


220  LITERARY  PORTRAITS.  [.ETAT.  28. 

That  the  same  heart  whose  wild  pulse  is  thrilled  by  the  adventu 
rous  interests  of  the  huntsman  and  the  wanderer,  can  beat  in 
unison  with  the  gentlest  truth  of  deep  devotion,  is  shown  in 
"When  other  Friends  are  round  Thee." 

When  other  friends  are  round  thee, 

And  other  hearts  are  thine, 
When  other  bays  have  crown'd  thee, 

More  fresh  and  green  than  mine, 
Then  think  how  sad  and  lonely 

This  doating  heart  will  be, 
Which,  while  it  throbs,  throbs  only, 

Beloved  one,  for  thee  ! 

Yet  do  not  think  I  doubt  thee, 

I  know  thy  truth  remains  ; 
I  would  not  live  without  thee, 

For  all  the  world  contains. 
Thou  art  the  star  that  guides  me 

Along  life's  changing  sea ; 
And  whate'er  fate  betides  me, 

This  heart  still  turns  to  thee. 

"I  Love  the  Night"  has  the  voluptuous  elegance  of  the 
Spanish  models. 

I  love  the  night  when  the  moon  streams  bright 

On  flowers  that  drink  the  dew, 
When  cascades  shout  as  the  stars  peep  out, 

From  boundless  fields  of  blue  j 
But  dearer  far  than  moon  or  star, 

Or  flowers  of  gaudy  hue, 
Or  murmuring  trills  of  mountain  rills, 

I  love,  I  love,  love — you ! 

I  love  to  stray  at  the  close  of  day, 

Through  groves  of  linden  trees, 
When  gushing  notes  from  song-birds'  throats, 

Are  vocal  in  the  breeze. 
I  love  the  night — the  glorious  night ! 

When  hearts  beat  warm  and  true; 
But  far  above  the  night  I  love, 

I  love,  I  love,  love — you  ! 

Were  we  to  meet  the  lines  "  Oh,  Think  of  Me  !"  in  an  An 
thology,  we  should  suppose  they  were  Suckling's — so  admirably 
is  the  tone  of  feeling  kept  down  to  the  limit  of  probable  sincerity 


.  28.]  GEORGE  P.  MORRIS.  221 

— which  is  a  characteristic  that  the  cavalier  style  of  courting 
never  loses. 

Oh,  think  of  me,  my  own  beloved, 

Whatever  cares  beset  thee ! 
And  when  thou  hast  the  falsehood  proved, 

Of  those  with  smiles  who  met  thee  : 
While  o'er  the  sea,  think,  love,  of  me, 

Who  never  can  forget  thee  ; 
Let  memory  trace  the  trysting-place, 

Where  I  with  tears  regret  thee. 

Bright  as  yon  star,  within  my  mind, 

A  hand  unseen  hath  set  thee ; 
There  hath  thine  image  been  enshrined, 

Since  first,  dear  love,  I  met  thee ; 
So  in  thy  breast  I  fain  would  rest, 

If,  haply,  fate  would  let  me — • 
And  live  or  die,  wert  thou  but  nigh, 

To  love  or  to  regret  me  ! 

"  The  Star  of  Love"  might  stand  as  a  selected  specimen  of 
all  that  is  most  exquisite  in  the  songs  of  the  Trouveurs. 

The  star  of  love  now  shines  above, 

Cool  zephyrs  crisp  the  sea; 
Among  the  leaves  the  wind-harp  weaves 

Its  serenade  for  thee. 
The  star,  the  breeze,  the  wave,  the  trees, 

Their  minstrelsy  unite, 
But  all  are  drear  till  thou  appear 

To  decorate  the  night. 

The  light  of  noon  streams  from  the  moon, 

Though  with  a  milder  ray; 
O'er  hill  and  grove,  like  woman's  love, 

It  cheers  us  on  our  way. 
Thus  all  that's  bright,  the  moon,  the  night, 

The  heavens,  the  earth,  the  sea, 
Exert  their  powers  to  bless  the  hours 

We  dedicate  to  thee. 

"The  Seasons  of  Love"  is  a  charming  effusion  of  gay,  yet 
thoughtful  sentiment. 

The  spring-time  of  love 

Is  both  happy  and  gay, 
For  joy  sprinkles  blossoms 

And  balm  in  our  way ; 


LITERARY    PORTRAITS.  [MtA.t.  28. 

The  sky,  earth,  and  ocean 

In  beauty  repose, 
And  all  the  bright  future 

Is  couleur  de  rose. 

The  summer  of  love 

Is  the  bloom  of  the  heart, 
When  hill,  grove,  and  valley 

Their  music  impart, 
And  the  pure  glow  of  heaven 

Is  seen  in  fond  eyes, 
As  lakes  show  the  rainbow 

That's  hung  in  the  skies. 

The  autumn  of  love 

Is  the  season  of  cheer — 
Life's  mild  Indian  Summer, 

The  smile  of  the  year ; 
Which  comes  when  the  golden 

Ripe  harvest  is  stored, 
And  yields  its  own  blessings — 

Repose  and  reward. 

The  winter  of  love 

Is  the  beam  that  we  win 
While  the  storm  scowls  without, 

From  the  sunshine  within. 
Love's  reign  is  eternal, 

The  heart  is  his  throne, 
And  he  has  all  seasons 

Of  life  for  his  own. 

The  song,  "I  Never  Have  Been  False  to  Thee,"  is,  of 
itself,  sufficient  to  establish  General  Morris's  fame  as  a  great 
poet — as  a  potens  magister  affectuum — and  as  a  literary  creator 
of  a  high  order.  It  is  a  thoroughly  fresh  and  affective  poem  on 
a  subject  as  hackneyed  as  the  highway ;  it  is  as  deep  as  truth 
itself,  yet  light  as  the  movement  of  a  dance. 

I  never  have  been  false  to  thee ! 

The  heart  I  gave  thee  still  is  thine  j 
Though  thou  hast  been  untrue  to  me, 

And  I  no  more  may  call  thee  mine  ! 
I've  loved,  as  woman  ever  loves, 

With  constant  soul  in  good  or  ill ; 
Thou'st  proved,  as  man  too  often  proves, 

A  rover — but  I  love  thee  still ! 


2ETAT.  28.]  GEORGE  P.  MORRIS.  223 

Yet  think  not  that  my  spirit  stoops 

To  bind  thee  captive  in  my  train  ! 
Love's  not  a  flower,  at  sunset  droops; 

But  smiles  -when  comes  her  god  again ! 
Thy  words,  which  fall  unheeded  now, 

Could  once  my  heart-strings  madly  thrill ! 
Love's  golden  chain  and  burning  vow 

Are  broken — but  I  love  thee  still ! 

Once  what  a  heaven  of  bliss  was  ours, 

"When  love  dispell'd  the  clouds  of  care. 
And  time  went  by  with  birds  and  flowers, 

While  song  and  incense  fill'd  the  air ! 
The  past  is  mine — the  present  thine — 

Should  thoughts  of  me  thy  future  fill, 
Think  what  a  destiny  is  mine, 

To  lose  but  love  thee,  false  one,  still ! 

We  had  almost  forgotten,  what  the  world  will  never  forget, 
the  matchless  softness  and  transparent  delicacy  of  "  Near  the 
Lake."  Those  lines,  of  themselves,  unconsciously,  court  "the 
soft  promoter  of  the  poet's  strain,"  and  almost  seem  about  to 
break  into  music. 

Near  the  lake  where  drooped  the  willow, 

Long  time  ago ! 
Where  the  rock  threw  back  the  billow, 

Brighter  than  snow ; 
Dwelt  a  maid,  beloved  and  cherished, 

By  high  and  low; 
But  with  autumn's  leaf  she  perished, 

Long  time  ago ! 

Rock  and  tree  and  flowing  water, 

Long  time  ago  ! 
Bee  and  bird  and  blossom  taught  her 

Love's  spell  to  know  ! 
While  to  my  fond  words  she  listen'd, 

Murmuring  low, 
Tenderly  her  dove-eyes  glisten'd, 

Long  time  ago ! 

Mingled  were  our  hearts  forever ! 

Long  time  ago ! 
Can  I  now  forget  her  ?    Never ! 

No,  lost  one,  no  ! 
To  her  grave  these  tears  are  given, 


224  LITERARY  PORTRAITS.  [JExAT.  28. 

Ever  to  flow; 

She's  the  star  I  missed  from  heaven, 
Long  time  ago ! 

It  is  agreeable  to  find  that,  instead  of  being  seduced  into  a 
false  style  by  the  excessive  popularity  which  many  of  his  songs 
have  acquired,  General  Morris's  later  efforts  are  in  a  style  even 
more  truly  classic  than  his  earlier  ones,  and  show  a  decided 
advance,  both  in  power  and  ease.  "  The  Rock  of  the  Pilgrims," 
and  the  "Indian  Songs,"  of  which  last  we  have  room  only  for 
one  verse,  are  a  very  clear  evidence  of  this : 

A  rock  in  the  wilderness  welcomed  our  sires, 

From  bondage  far  over  the  dark-rolling  sea, 
On  that  holy  altar  they  kindled  the  fires, 

Jehovah,  which  glow  in  our  bosoms  for  thee. 
Thy  blessings  descended  in  sunshine  and  shower, 

Or  rose  from  the  soil  that  was  sown  by  thy  hand  j 
The  mountain  and  valley  rejoiced  in  thy  power, 

And  heaven  encircled  and  smiled  on  the  land. 

The  Pilgrims  of  old  an  example  have  given 

Of  mild  resignation,  devotion,  and  love, 
Which  beams  like  a  star  in  the  blue  vault  of  heaven  j 

A  beacon-light  hung  in  their  mansion  above. 
In  church  and  cathedral  we  kneel  in  our  prayer — 

Their  temple  and  chapel  were  valley  and  hill — 
But  God  is  the  same  in  the  aisle  or  the  air, 

And  He  is  the  Rock  that  we  lean  upon  still. 

BEFORE    THE    BATTLE. 

They  come  ! — be  firm !     In  silence  rally  ! 

The  long-knives  our  retreat  have  found ! 
Hark ! — their  tramp  is  in  the  valley, 

And  they  hem  the  forest  round ! 
The  burthened  boughs  with  pale  scouts  quiver, 

The  echoing  hills  tumultuous  ring, 
While  across  the  eddying  river 

Their  barks,  like  foaming  war-steeds,  spring  I 
The  bloodhounds  darken  land  and  water ! 
They  come — like  buffaloes  for  slaughter  ! 

We  would  willingly  go  on  with  our  extracts,  as  there  are  se 
veral  which  have  equal  claims  with  these  upon  our  notice,  but — 


.  28.]  GEORGE   P.  MORRIS.  225 

claudite  jam  rivos.  Such  are  the  compositions,  original  in  stjie, 
natural  in  spirit,  beautiful  with  the  charm  of  almost  faultless  ex 
ecution,  which  may  challenge  for  their  author  the  title  of  the 
Laureate  of  America. 

The  life  that  is  devoted  to  letters — says  Dr.  Johnson — passes 
silently  away  and  is  but  little  diversified  by  events.  The  par 
ticulars  of  General  Morris's  personal  history  are  soon  told.  He 
was  born  in  the  second  year  of  the  present  century.  The  bril 
liance  of  some  youthful  efforts  in  connection  with  the  daily  press 
displayed  his  fitness  to  take  a  leading  part  in  the  literary  action 
of  the  country;  and  accordingly,  in  1822,  he  became  the  Editor 
of  "The  New  York  Mirror."  The  storm  of  financial  embarrass 
ment  which,  about  the  years  1837  and  1838,  rode  over  the  whole 
country,  prostrating  every  interest,  and  wasting  all  classes, 
visited  even  the  poet  and  the  editor.  "  The  New  York  Mirror" 
passed  out  of  his  hands;  and  in  1843,  its  existence  came  to  an 
end.  In  1844,  "  The  New  Mirror"  was  established  by  the  original 
proprietor,  in  conjunction  with  his  friend  Mr.  Willis  ;  and  this  has 
recently  been  changed  into  "  The  Evening  Mirror,"  a  daily  gazette 
of  much  spirit,  elegance,  and  popularity.  "  The  Mirror  Library," 
under  the  same  control,  presents  far  the  best  selection  of  belles- 
lettres  that  can  be  found  in  this  country  or  in  England.  It  is 
abotft  to  re-commence  its  issues  under  improved  advantages. 
In  the  beginning  of  the  present  year  (1845. — ED.),  the  professional 
corps  of  singers  and  musicians  in  New  York,  as  a  testimony  of 
esteem  to  General  Morris,  gave  him  a  complimentary  concert — 
a  valuable  token  of  their  respect — appropriate  and  deserved — 
which  enabled  the  most  distinguished  persons  in  the  city  of  New 
York  to  exhibit,  by  their  presence,  the  interest  and  regard  which 
they  had  for  him.  It  was  understood  that  the  profits  of  that 
concert  had  a  vital  connection  with  General  Morris's  continuing 
to  be  the  possessor  of  the  modest  and  beautiful  seat  of  "Under- 
cliff,"  on  the  Hudson — the  residence  of  his  family — the  birth 
place  of  most  of  them,  and  the  cherished  home  and  seat  of  his 
affections.  Upon  that  subject,  it  is  not  our  warrant  to  speak  ; 
nor  indeed  have  we  the  power  to  speak  with  accuracy.  Should 
it  be  as  is  reported,  that  a  "damp"  has  "fallen  around  the  path" 


226  LITERARY  PORTRAITS.  [^BTAT.  28. 

of  this  sweet  poet  and  amiable  man,  we  are  sure  that  the  people 
of  this  nation  will  be  prompt  to  dispel,  by  offers  more  truly  vo 
luntary  than  the  "  aids"  and  "  benevolences"  of  royal  ages,  all 
discomfort  from  the  evening  of  his  days,  and,  "in  recompense" 
of  many  an  hour  of  the  purest  pleasure,  and  many  an  abiding  senti 
ment  of  truth  and  goodness,  for  which  they  are  his  debtors,  to 

"  Give  the  tribute,  Glory  need  not  ask."* 

#  The  concluding  sentences  of  this  short  sketch  of  "  The  Song-Writer  of 
America,"- written  by  Mr.  Wallace  in  1845,  as  an  office  of  pleasure  and  a  volun 
tary  offering  of  regard  for  one  whom  he  affectionately  loved,  leaves  a  painful 
interest  in  respect  to  the  gifted  subject  of  it,  which  it  is  a  high  gratification  to 
be  able  in  1856  to  dispel.  The  great  merit  and  uncommon  success  of  General 
Morris's  present  literary  enterprise,  "  The  Home  Journal,"  which,  with  his  friend 
Mr.  Willis,  he  undertook  eleven  years  ago,  soon  after  the  preceding  sketch  was 
written,  and  with  him  has  since  continued — and  the  constant  income  from  his 
published  Works,  enabled  this  generous  man  to  rise  successfully  above  the 
"damp,"  to  which  Mr.  Wallace  in  1845  so  delicately  alludes :  and  he  has  been 
for  many  years  past  in  a  full  enjoyment  of  that  independence  so  dear  to  an. 
honorable  man ;  made  yet  more  dear,  as  the  reward  of  his  own  genius  and  his 
own  labors. 

A  song  is  written  that  it  may  be  sung  :  and  the  popularity  of  General  Mor 
ris's  writings  with  such  composers  as  Bishop,  Horn,  Gilfert,  Knight,  De 
Begnis,  Wallace,  and  with  artists  like  Braham,  Malibran,  Mrs.  Wood,  Jenny 
Lind,  and  others  of  later  fame,  may  be  referred  to  as  a  proof  how  essentially 
lyric  is  his  genius  :  and  how  certain  therefore  to  command  the  applause  of  na 
tions.  Mr.  C.  E.  Horn  declared  that  the  poet  met  him  more  than  half  way ;  that 
his  lines  were  always  musical,  and  might  be  said  to  sing  themselves.  Braham 
pronounced  this  author  "  the  best  lyrist  of  the  age;" — whose  songs  he  most 
liked  to  sing.  He  said  that  he  had  sung  "  The  Miniature"  some  two  hundred 
times  in  public  and  never  without  an  encore  ;  and  that  on  some  occasions  in 
Canada  and  elsewhere,  he  had  been  requested  to  repeat  it  three  and  four  times 
at  the  same  concert. 

With  the  admitted  popularity  of  General  Morris's  songs,  it  is  interesting  to 
add  from  a  recent  British  Magazine  the  commendation  of  those  moral  features 
of  them  alluded  to  by  Mr.  Wallace:  "Let  the  reader  mark,"  says  "The 
People's  Journal,"  "the  surprising  excellence  of  the  love  songs ;  their  perfect 
naturalness ;  the  quiet  beauty  of  the  similes ;  the  fine  blending  of  graceful 
thought  and  tender  feeling  which  characterize  them.  Morris  is,  indeed,  the 
poet  of  home  joys.  *  *  * 

"What  simple  tenderness  is  contained  in  the  ballad  of  'We  were  boys 
together!'  Every  word  in  that  beautiful  melody  comes  home  to  the  heart  of 
him  whose  early  days  have  been  happy.  God  help  those  in  whom  this  poem 
awakens  no  fond  remembrances !  Those  whose  memories  it  does  not  get 
wandering  up  the  stream  of  life,  toward  its  source ;  beholding  at  every  step 


31.]  RUFUS  WILMOT   GRISWOLD.  227 


RUFUS   WILMOT    GRISWOLD. 

MANKIND,  generally,  are  not  predisposed  to  give  any  one 
credit  for  possessing,  at  the  same  time,  great  intellectual  force 
and  eminent  personal  disinterestedness.  If  it  be  not  the  law,  it 
is  too  often  an  untoward  fact  of  this  imperfect  frame  of  ours, 
that  vivid  creative  capacity  is  accompanied  by  an  absorbing 
self-consciousness,  which,  like  an  elliptical  mirror,  concentrates 
upon  a  focus  within  its  own  compass  all  the  lustre  that  it 
snatches  from  life  and  nature  ;  so  that  at  last  we  come  unhappily 
to  doubt  the  power,  if  we  do  not  perceive  the  infirmity.  A 
writer,  of  the  least  questionable  ability,  if  he  be  unlucky  enough 
early  to  grow  distinguished  for  literary  philanthropy,  for  gener 
ous  zeal  in  bringing  the  productions  of  others  to  the  light  of 
popular  approval,  for  patriotic  devotedness  to  the  honor  of  his 
country,  as  founded  upon  the  works  of  his  contemporaries,  will 
assuredly  be  misunderstood,  at  least  for  a  season.  His  readiness 
to  do  everything  for  others  will  be*  taken  for  an  argument  of  in 
capacity  to  do  much  for  himself.  But  Time — in  whose  airy 
train,  if  passions  and  prejudices  revel  at  the  commencement, 
and  false  opinions  crowd  about  the  middle  part,  Justice  ever 
walks  slow  and  late,  bringing  up  the  close — will  dispense  a  ret 
ribution  that  is  not  by  measure ;  and  the  reputation,  which 

the  sun  smiling  more  brightly,  the  heavens  assuming  a  deeper  hue,  the  grass 
a  fresher  green,  and  the  flowers  a  sweeter  perfume.  How  wondrous  are  not 
its  effects  upon  ourselves !  The  wrinkles  have  disappeared  from  our  hrow, 
and  the  years  from  our  shoulder,  and  the  marks  of  the  branding-iron  of  ex 
perience  from  our  heart;  and  again  we  are  a  careless  child,  gathering  prim 
roses,  and  chasing  butterflies,  and  drinking  spring-water  from  out  the  hollow 
of  our  hands.  Around  us  are  the  hedges  'with  golden  gorse  bright  blossom 
ing,  as  none  bloom  now-a-day.'  *  #  * 

"  There  is  one  quality  in  his  songs,"  (continues  "  The  People's  Journal,") 
"to  which  we  cannot  but  direct  attention — and  this  is  their  almost  feminine 
purity.  The  propensities  have  had  their  laureates ;  and  genius,  alas !  has 
often  defiled  its  angel  wings  by  contact  with  the  sensual  and  the  impure;  but 
Morris  has  never  attempted  to  robe  vice  in  beauty ;  and,  as  has  been  well  re 
marked,  his  lays  can  bring  to  the  cheek  of  purity  no  blush  save  that  of  plea 
sure." 


228  LITEEARY  PORTRAITS.  [JBiAT.  31 

began  in  self-oblivion,  will  ultimately  be  all  the  more  potent  foi 
having  first  been  pure. 

To  no  man  of  our  time  is  the  literary  character  of  this  country 
under  more  honorable  obligation,  for  confidence  imparted  at 
home,  and  consequence  acquired  abroad,  than  to  the  person 
whose  name  is  placed  at  the  beginning  of  this  article.  To  no 
one  will  those  writers,  personally,  almost  without  an  exception, 
be  so  prompt  to  profess  their  indebtedness  for  manifold  acts  of 
disinterested  benefit,  rendered  in  a  spirit,  and  with  an  ease  and 
an  ability,  which  made  the  intervention  as  valuable  and  as  de 
lightful  to  one  party,  as  it  was  meritorious  and  graceful  in  the 
other.  But  the  merit  has  been  won  at  a  great  personal  loss. 
Dr.  Griswold  would  have  been  thought  entitled  to  more  respect 
as  an  author,  if  he  had  displayed  less  benevolence  as  an  editor. 
The  praise  which  is  not  claimed  is  slowly  yielded ;  and  the  ad 
vocate  who  comes  forward  in  the  cause  of  another,  is  not  sup 
posed  to  have  pretensions  of  his  own.  A  candidate  without 
rivalry,  and  a  competitor  unconscious  of  jealousy,  is  a  character 
so  new  to  literary  history,  that  it  is  hardly  to  be  expected  that 
it  should  be  at  once  appreciated.  Dr.  Griswold's  critical  sur 
veys  exhibit  intellectual  capacities  of  a  very  high  order  of  sub 
tlety  and  force,  and  a  skill  in  composition  singularly  felicitous  ; 
they  leave  to  no  one  of  his  years  in  the  country  a  title  to  take 
rank  before  him  in  energetic  originality  of  thought  and  lan 
guage  ;  and  to  the  discriminating  mind  they  demonstrate  his 
ability,  by  the  judicious  concentration  of  effort  upon  some  single 
subject  of  adequate  scope,  to  rise  to  the  first  degree  of  excellence 
in  any  department.  Nevertheless,  had  the  exercise  of  these 
talents  been  dissociated  from  a  generosity  of  purpose  ;  had  they 
been  directed  to  the  construction  of  a  mansion  of  repute  for 
their  possessor,  out  of  the  demolished  houses  of  others'  fame,  in 
stead  of  being  employed  to  adorn  and  beautify  the  Pantheon  of 
public  and  national  distinction,  by  materials  furnished  from  the 
artist's  own  treasures,  doubtless  the  personal  admiration  won 
would  have  been  far  greater.  The  echoes  of  success  would  have 
borne  to  our  ears  the  reverberations  of  a  single  name,  instead  of 
voicing  the  mingled  glory  of  a  throng,  in  which  his  praise  who 


.  31.]  RUFUS  WILMOT  GRISWOLD.  229 

waked  the  long  response  is  scarce  distinguishable.  But  we 
must  not  impair  the  dignity  of  an  honorable  reputation  by  regret 
or  complaint.  The  qualities  by  which  the  general  interest  is 
aided,  and  the  common  good  advanced,  take  their  place,  in  every 
right  judgment,  so  much  above  that  class  of  powers  by  which 
individual  eminence  is  vindicated;  it  is  so  much  nobler  and 
greater  to  diffuse  the  rays  of  renown  than  to  appropriate  them  ; 
that  we  would  counsel  the  friends  of  Dr.  Griswold  to  value  his 
reputation  as  the  author  of  The  Prose  Writers  of  America,  before 
the  most  fortunate  endeavor  to  outrival  the  brightest  subject  of 
its  page. 

Every  American  concerned  for  the  literary  celebrity  of  his 
country  is  bound  to  bear  respect  to  the  author  of  "  The  Poets 
and  Poetry,"  and  "  The  Prose  Writers  of  America."  The  effect 
which  these  works  have  had,  is  obvious  to  the  most  careless  ex 
amination.  We  note  a  decided  alteration  since  the  date  of  their 
publication,  not  only  in  the  increased  deference  with  which  our 
productions  are  regarded  by  British  writers,  but  in  the  firmer 
countenance,  the  added  energy,  the  deeper  thoroughness  of  tone 
assumed  and  exerted  by  the  press  among  us.  Dr.  Griswold  at 
once  challenged  for  his  subject  the  very  loftiest  position,  and  did 
it  in  tones  of  such  distinctness,  decision  and  emphasis,  as  startled 
attention  on  every  side,  and  implied  not  only  great  confidence 
in  the  correctness  of  his  opinions,  but  something  of  moral 
heroism  in  braving  the  doubts  and  denials  with  which  such  claims 
were  at  first  received.  But  he  made  good  every  pretension  that 
he  had  advanced,  and  he  is  now  followed  by  troops  of  persons, 
of  whom  not  one  would  have  dared  to  precede  him,  and  but  few 
would  have  been  willing  to  stand  beside  him  in  the  beginning. 
This  presentation  of  the  claims  of  American  genius  and  accom 
plishment  in  letters,  under  such  advantages  of  aggregation, 
arrangement  and  illustration,  as  immediately  to  advance  them 
into  the  line  of  equality  with  all  our  glories,  is  connected,  en- 
duringly,  with  the  name  of  Dr.  Griswold.  From  several  causes, 
not  very  difficult  to  appreciate,  it  had  happened  that  the  lite 
rary  efforts  of  this  country,  in  verse  and  prose  alike,  have  been 
scattered,  occasional,  fragmentary,  local ;  impulsive  more  than 
20 


230  LITERARY   PORTRAITS.  [JETAT.  31. 

systematic  ;  the  work  of  amateurs  rather  than  professors.  The 
wandering  rays  that  struggled  with  "  ineffectual  beam,"  from  a 
thousand  divided  sources,  were  now  brought  into  focal  unity, 
with  an  effect  not  merely  augmented  in  degree,  but  unexpected 
in  nature  and  kind.  Si  non  singula  placent,  juncta  juuant.  It 
was  thus  demonstrated  that  America  had  produced  not  only  a 
poetry  and  romance,  but  a  philosophy,  a  theology,  a  scholarship, 
and  a  criticism,  fairly  entitled  to  constitute  a  national  school. 
Something  more  than  research  the  most  extensive,  memory  the 
readiest,  discrimination  the  most  just,  and  taste  and  tact  the 
most  delicate,  were  needed  for  this  success.  A  "reconciling 
ray"  of  creative  intelligence  alone  could  give  order,  relation, 
composition  and  singleness  of  tone,  to  elements  in  many  cases 
apparently  impracticable.  In  hands  less  than  masterly,  the 
thing  would  have  been  a  shapeless,  discordant  mass,  without  in 
terest,  and  without  effect.  The  combining  eye,  which  caught 
the  rich  impression  of  the  completed  architecture,  in  the  inex 
pressive  and  inharmonious  variety  of  the  separate  material,  par 
took  of  poetic  ardor,  and  the  skill  which  accomplished  what  the 
mind  foresaw,  was  an  artist  faculty  of  not  a  common  kind. 

Upon  the  subject  of  American  literature,  Dr.  Griswold  is  an 
enthusiast,  with  all  the  qualities  which  render  enthusiasm  en 
gaging,  and  even  admirable  ;  generous,  indefatigable,  self-sacri 
ficing,  successful.  Apparently,  he  takes  as  much  pleasure  in 
establishing  another's  distinction  as  he  could  feel  if  the  victory 
were  his  own ;  and  he  seems  to  feel  that  a  personal  triumph  is 
won,  whenever  the  lettered  fame  of  the  country  is  elevated. 
Under  a  light,  variable,  complying  manner,  he  conceals  strongly 
determined  points  of  character.  There  is  great  intensity  and 
continuance  in  his  nature.  Beneath  a  superficial  excitability 
and  impulsiveness,  the  instincts  of  his  deeper  being  move  firmly 
onward,  undeviating  and  unresisting,  through  that  sphere  of 
mental  interest  to  which  he  seems  to  have  been  predestinated. 
To  inform  himself  of  the  history,  peculiarities  and  achievements 
of  American  effort  in  every  form,  in  the  past  and  in  the  present, 
to  assimilate  all  this  information  into  union  with  his  own  thoughts 
and  views,  and  to  organize  the  whole  into  grand  and  imposing 


.  31.]  RUFUS  WILMOT  GRISWOLD.  231 

views  of  national  power,  is  the  occupation  always  going  on,  by 
a  kind  of  involuntary  process,  almost  in  the  unconscious  opera 
tion  of  this  ever-active,  ever-inquiring  mind.  This  is  the  main 
pursuit  of  his  life  ;  all  else  is  the  by-play  of  his  powers.  It  is 
this  which  gives  permanence,  and  consistency,  and  unity  to  his 
character,  amid  the  infinite  multiplicity  of  concerns  which  en 
gage  his  less  profound  attention.  This  imparts  dignity,  and 
the  aspect  even  of  greatness,  to  a  mental  career  which,  unless 
steadied  by  such  a  controlling  passion  and  principle  of  the 
thought,  might  be  frittered  and  frivolized  by  the  multitudinous 
petty  excitements  to  which  it  is  subject.  Whatever  "quick 
whirls  and  eddies  of  the  mind"  may  gyrate  and  gurgle  on  the 
surface,  the  under-current  ever  moves  composedly  onward  through 
its  direct  and  natural  channel,  and  in  due  time  deposits  in 
glittering  masses  the  golden  particles  which  it  had  swept  along 
with  it. 

With  characteristics,  and  talents,  and  habits  such  as  these,  it 
is  not  surprising  that  his  lore,  on  all  matters  connected  with 
national  history,  biography,  and  literature,  is  immense.  He  is, 
without  doubt,  upon  the  whole  American  subject,  the  most 
learned  authority  in  the  world.  For  ourselves,  we  can  say  that 
there  are  certain  departments  in  this  field,  more  especially  con 
nected  with  Revolutionary  personages  and  occurrences,  which 
have  been  to  us  a  kind  of  specialite  in  study ;  but  we  have  not 
yet  found  the  topic  upon  which  Dr.  Griswold  did  not  know  all 
that  we  know,  and  a  little  more.  The  system  upon  which  all 
this  erudition  is  stored  and  distributed,  in  his  recollection,  is  de 
serving  of  imitation.  There  is  nothing  of  the  confusion,  the 
chaotic  agglomeration,  which  marks  the  lettered  collections  of 
the  "helluo  librorum;"  all  is  orderly,  rational,  connected.  With 
great  discretion  he  has  especially  cultivated  that  sort  of  infor 
mation  which  consists,  not  so  much  in  a  treasury  of  facts  laid 
away  in  the  memory,  as  in  familiarity  with  the  sources  of  know 
ledge.  It  has  been  his  practice  to  cultivate  that  style  of  research 
which  the  acute  good  sense  of  Dr.  Johnson  commended  in 
Gilbert  Walinesly,  and  the  advantages  which  all  scholars  are 
aware  of — that  where  he  does  not  possess  the  knowledge,  he  can 


LITERARY  PORTRAITS.  [^TAT.  31. 

at  least  tell  where  to  find  it.  Ask  Dr.  Griswold  as  to  an  event 
or  a  character,  somewhat  recondite  or  controverted,  arid  if  he  is 
not  prepared  to  give  you  an  exact  and  minute  detail  of  the  case, 
he  will  indicate,  with  promptness  and  precision,  the  avenues 
through  which  all  the  learning  on  the  subject  is  to  be  reached  ; 
he  will  refer  you  to  a  letter  in  the  middle  of  one  book,  an  anec 
dote  in  the  appendix  of  another,  a  disquisition  buried  in  some 
series  of  a  dozen  volumes,  by  the  combination  of  which  a  full 
view  of  what  you  are  in  search  of  will  be  reached  ;  and  he  will 
furnish  a  just  estimate  of  the  comparative  reliability  of  different 
authorities,  and  all  that  apparatus  of  study  which  is  so  satis 
factory  to  the  inquirer.  His  mind,  in  this  respect,  might  not 
so  truly  be  called  a  book  as  an  index,  by  means  of  which  many 
books  may  be  consulted. 

Doctor  Griswold's  life  of  mind  is  extraordinary.  The  energy 
and  activity  of  his  thoughts  and  efforts  seem  rather  to  be  stimu 
lated  into  higher  force  by  the  accumulation  of  toils.  He  cannot 
draw  comfortable  breath  except  in  a  whirlwind  of  occupation. 
To  one  who  becomes  slightly  acquainted  with  him,  and  for  the 
first  time  gets  a  glimpse  into  the  many-roomed  workshop  of  his 
mind,  it  is  a  matter  of  unfeigned  astonishment  to  behold  the  all 
but  limitless  diversity  of  incompatible  pursuits  which  this  re 
markable  person  is  carrying  on  at  the  same  time.  As  he  be 
comes  more  extensively  observed,  and  more  thoroughly  known, 
this  early  surprise  gives  way  to  a  more  permanent  admiration  at 
the  distinctness  with  which  these  several  employments  are  fol 
lowed,  and  the  unpausing  onwardness  with  which  each  is  carried 
forward  duly  to  its  conclusion.  The  taking  up  of  a  new  project 
is  no  reason  with  him  for  abandoning  or  slighting  an  old  one. 
It  is  a  characteristic  with  him  to  finish  everything  that  he  under 
takes.  He  does  not  deal  in  unexecuted  suggestions  or  untermi- 
nated  enterprises  ;  every  undertaking  in  his  hands,  soon  sees  its 
practical  and  final  completion.  Napoleon  himself  was  not  more 
habitually  intent  upon  snatching  the  fruits  of  toil.  Accord 
ingly,  in  a  brief  life,  he  has  accomplished  a  vast  deal.  As  col 
lector  and  editor,  he  has  done  in  months  what  any  other  man 
would  have  required  years  for.  As  an  original  author,  he  has 


.  31.]  RUFUS   WILMOT   GRISWOLD.  233 

written  thrice  as  much,  perhaps,  as  any  of  his  contemporaries. 
Much  was  transitory,  and  has  passed  away ;  much  remains,  and 
will  long  be  valued.  Yet  with  all  this  prodigiousness  of  em 
ployment,  he  always  seems  to  be  at  leisure.  In  the  morning,  at 
noon,  and  in  the  evening,  he  is  ready  for  anything  that  his 
friends  may  propose ;  is  always  much  at  their  service.  A 
stranger  who  should  be  introduced  to  him,  without  a  knowledge 
of  his  character  or  history,  and  should  observe  the  eager  force 
and  earnest  ability  with  which  he  threw  himself  into  the  trifles 
of  the  moment,  would  set  him  down,  probably,  for  a  gentleman 
of  fortune  and  leisure,  who  lived  chiefly  in  the  drawing-room, 
whose  mind  habitually  wanted  occupation,  had  not  enough  for 
its  energies,  and  was  rather  running  to  waste  from  what  he  him 
self  has  described  as  the  "luxuriance  of  intelligence  unem 
ployed."  Such  a  one  might  be  surprised  to  learn  that  his-  gay 
and  careless  acquaintance  had  just  published  a  large  octavo 
volume,  after  three  months'  consideration,  of  which  a  dozen 
people,  under  any  division  of  labor,  might  have  been  in  gestation 
for  as  many  lustrums  ;  was  carrying  two  or  three  more  through 
the  press ;  a  monthly  magazine ;  wrote  the  literary  articles  of 
one  or  two  journals,  and  devoted  twelve  hours  every  day  to  the 
preparation  of  a  great  biographical  dictionary — the  maximum 
opus  of  his  life. 

It  would  be  unjust  to  pass  by  the  personal  relation  in  which 
Dr.  Griswold  has  always  stood  to  the  other  authors  of  his 
country;  the  system  of  friendly  assistance  which  he  makes  it 
his  duty  to  maintain  to  all  who,  in  any  sort,  may  profit  by  his 
kindness.  He  seems  to  possess  an  ardent  and  chivalrous  love 
for  the  literary  fame  of  his  countrymen.  He  is  ever  ready  to 
give  any  assistance  that  may  be  required  in  bringing  out  their 
works  ;  and  his  acquaintance  with  the  subject  of  publication  in 
all  its  branches,  and  all  its  details,  enables  him  to  render  aid 
that  is  of  priceless  value  to  the  shy,  nervous,  secluded  man  of 
genius.  "A  virgin  tragedy,  an  orphan  muse,"  possess  irresis 
tible  claims  upon  his  philanthropy.  If  the  time  and  talents  of 
a  skilful  editor,  who  will  labor  gratuitously,  in  some  benevolent 
undertaking  toward  the  works  of  some  defunct,  are  needed,  Dr. 
20* 


234  LITERARY  PORTRAITS.  [JEtAT.  31. 

Griswold  is  counted  upon  with  ready  confidence.  The  case  of 
the  late  Edgar  Allen  Poe  is  an  illustration  of  this  matter,  very 
honorable  to  the  subject  of  our  notice.  There  was  nothing  in 
the  private  relations  of  the  parties  to  render  it  at  all  natural  or 
probable  that  Mr.  Poe  should  have  left  a  request  that  Dr.  Gris 
wold  would  be  the  editor  of  his  writings ;  but  he  knew  the 
generous  spirit  and  admirable  capacity  of  the  person  whose  re 
gard  he  invoked,  and  felt  assured  that  he  would  do  in  the  best 
manner  what  probably  no  other  would  do  at  all.  Services  such 
as  he  is  constantly  rendering,  give  him  a  title  to  the  gratitude, 
not  merely  of  that  large  number  of  authors  who  have  been  im 
mediately  obliged  by  his  courtesy,  but  of  the  country  at  large, 
which  has  derived  from  his  efforts  benefits  which  it  knows  not 
of,  and  which  ought  to  admire  abilities  so  unselfishly  exerted.* 
No  one  living  has  conferred  such  important  favors  upon  the 
whole  class  of  American  authors,  prose  and  poetical ;  and  should 
he  be  withdrawn  from  the  sphere  which  he  fills  with  peculiar 
advantages,  there  is  scarcely  a  considerable  writer,  from  one 
end  of  the  States  to  the  other,  who  would  not  feel  that  he  had 
sustained  the  loss  of  an  invaluable  ally.  And  it  is  not  only  his 
personal  exertions  that  have  thus  been  disinterestedly  given  to 
American  letters,  but  his  purse  has  ever  been  freely  open  for 
the  promotion  of  the  same  class  of  interests.  Many  a  struggling 
young  adventurer  in  the  fields  of  authorship  has  owed  to  his 
generous  hand  the  means  of  prosecuting  and  attaining  his  favor 
ite  aims.  But  the  grace  of  such  acts  consists  in  their  secrecy, 
and  as  the  author  of  them  has  never  divulged  them,  we  cannot 


*  The  writers  of  the  country  have  not  been  unwilling  to  display  their  re 
gard  for  him  in  ways  the  most  suitable  and  graceful.  Bayard  Taylor  dedicates 
to  him  his  first  book,  "  Ximena  and  other  Poems,"  as  "an  expression  of 
gratitude  for  the  kind  encouragement  shown  the  author."  The  Rev.  James 
Watson  inscribes  to  him  a  volume  of  "  Discourses,  as  the  first  fruits  of  a 
mental  and  moral  culture  for  which  the  author  is  chiefly  indebted  to  him." 
The  lamented  Mrs.  Osgood  addressed  to  him  the  splendid  edition  of  her  works 
as  a  "  Souvenir  of  admiration  for  his  genius,  of  respect  for  his  generous  cha 
racter,  and  of  gratitude  for  his  valuable  literary  counsels;"  and  we  might 
quote  perhaps  a  dozen  similar  tributes  from  C.  F.  Hoffman,  W.  H.  C.  Ilosmer, 
and  other  authors,  illustrating  the  same  feelings  and  opinions. 


Mv\f.  31.]  RUFUS  "WILMOT  GRISWOLD.  235 

venture  to  refer  to  such  as  have  transpired  to  us  from  other 
sources.  The  younger,  less-favored  class  of  American  authors, 
will  never  have  a  warmer  friend,  or,  to  use  an  old  word,  without 
the  invidious  sense  which  of  old  it  may  have  borne,  a  more  liberal 
patron,  than  he  of  whom  we  write. 

The  boast  of  heraldry,  and  the  pomp  of  power,  alike  have 
vanished  from  an  era  of  republican  maxims ;  yet  the  rational 
interest  of  the  one,  and  the  substantial  value  of  the  other,  have 
survived  the  change  of  forms,  and  sentiments,  and  institutions. 
Nowhere  are  genealogies  explored  and  esteemed  more  than 
among  the  descendants  of  the  Puritans ;  and  New  England,  we 
believe,  is  the  only  community  which  exhibits  a  society,  and  a 
periodical  journal,  devoted  to  the  single  purpose  of  tracing  and 
recording  pedigrees.  It  is  wise,  and  it  is  natural ;  and  like  all 
of  "Nature's  wisdom,"  it  finds  its  vindication  equally  in  the  in 
stincts  of  the  feelings,  and  in  the  conclusions  of  lengthened  ob 
servation.  Struck  by  an  historic  name,  awaking  associations 
with  the  fame  of  judges,  governors,  and  other  worthies  of  the 
republic,  we  made  application  to  a  member  of  the  family,  for 
some  details  upon  the  subject.  He  has  politely  responded  to 
our  call,  with  a  greater  profusion  of  lore  than  we  shall  at 
present  communicate  to  the  public. 

The  family  of  Griswold — which  has  included  many  eminent 
persons  in  the  annals  of  the  colony  and  of  the  state  of  Connec 
ticut — is  descended  from  George  Griswold,  called,  in  his  epitaph, 
Armiger,  of  Kenilworth,  in  Warwickshire,  England,  and  for 
several  years,  during  the  life  of  his  father,  Francis  Griswold,  de 
scribed  as  of  Lyme  Regis,  in  Dorsetshire,  where  he  was  married. 
Of  the  ancestors  of  George  Griswold,  several  had  been  in  Par 
liament,  and  one,  Philip  Griswold  (A.  D.  1391 — 1460),  was 
honorably  distinguished  in  arms  in  the  reigns  of  the  Fifth  and 
Sixth  Henries.  The  sons  of  George  Griswold,  with  a  single 
exception,  emigrated  to  New  England.  Edward,  whose  name 
appears  for  some  reason  to  have  been  changed  from  Francis, 
was  one  of  the  first  settlers  of  "Windsor,  in  the  year  1630. 
Matthew  also  established  himself  originally  in  the  same  place, 
but  after  marrying  a  daughter  of  the  first  Henry  Wolcott,  he 


236  LITERARY  PORTRAITS.  [>ETAT.  31. 

bought  and  occupied  the  place  known  as  Black  Hall,  in  Lyme, 
then  Saybrook.  Others  of  the  family  advanced  farther  into  the 
interior,  and  are  represented  by  the  descendants  of  the  settlers 
of  Norwich,  Killingworth,  (a  corruption  of  Kenilworth,)  Gris- 
wold,  and  other  towns  of  which  they  were  the  founders.  Rufus 
"Wilmot  Griswold  is  of  the  ninth  generation  from  George  Gris- 
wold,  of  Kenilworth,  in  England ;  and  on  the  mother's  side  is 
descended  in  the  eighth  degree  from  Thomas  Mayhew,  the  first 
Governor  of  Martha's  Vineyard.  He  was  born  in  Rutland 
county,  Vermont,  on  the  15th  of  February,  1815. 

Much  of  the  early  life  of  Dr.  Griswold  was  spent  in  voyaging 
about  the  world ;  and  before  he  was  twenty  years  of  age  he  had 
seen  the  most  interesting  portions  of  his  own  country,  and  of 
southern  and  central  Europe.  Relinquishing  travel,  which  had 
grown  distasteful  from  indulgence,  he  suddenly  married,  and 
entered  upon  the  fascinating  but  dangerous  career  of  a  man  of 
letters  by  profession.  Quodcunque  amat,  valde  amat,  is  the 
character  of  his  temperament,  and  he  pursued  this  exciting  oc 
cupation  with  earnest  and  enthusiastic  assiduity.  He  had 
studied  divinity,  and  has  professed  at  all  times  to  regard  it  as 
his  vocation ;  but  "  once  a  mortgage,  always  a  mortgage"  is  as 
applicable  to  the  liens  of  authorship  as  to  those  of  debts ;  and 
after  nine  or  ten  years  passed  chiefly  in  journalism  and  literary 
creation,  it  is  not  probable  that  he  will  ever  wholly  abandon 
the  press  for  the  pulpit.*  There  is  no  well-authenticated  in 
stance,  we  believe,  on  record,  of  a  man  who,  for  his  own  or  his 
father's  sin,  has  once  been  "  dipped  in  ink"  of  printers,  either 
curing  himself  or  being  cured  radically  of  that  tetter  of  the 

*  Mr.  E.  P.  Whipple,  probably  the  most  thoroughly  accomplished  of  all  our 
critics,  observes  in  a  recent  sketch  of  Dr.  Griswold:  "His  acquirements  in 
theology  are  very  extensive.  In  his  doctrinal  notions  he  is  inflexibly  orthodox, 
and  entertains  some  dogmas  of  peculiar  grimness.  Those  who  have  never 
disputed  with  him  on  '  fixed  fate,  free  will,  foreknowledge  absolute,'  can 
hardly  form  a  conception  of  his  innate  force  of  character.  On  these  subjects 
he  is  a  sort  of  cross  between  Descartes  and  John  Calvin.  In  theology  he  is 
all  muscle  and  bone.  His  sermons  are  his  finest  compositions,  and  he  delivers 
them  from  the  pulpit  with  taste  and  eloquence." 


.  31.]  RUFUS  WILMOT  GRISWOLD.  237 

love  of  approbation  which  the  dusky  immersion  always  leaves 
behind  it. 

Dr.  Griswold's  first  habits  of  writing  were  formed  under  the 
suggestive  culture  of  an  elder  brother,  Mr.  Reman  Griswold,  a 
highly  accomplished  and  much  respected  merchant  of  Troy,  in 
whose  house  he  passed  the  winter  of  1830.  From  that  period, 
his  fifteenth  year,  he  has  been  a  practised  writer ;  though  he 
considers  himself  as  having  produced  nothing,  before  twenty- 
two,  which  he  would  now  be  willing  to  acknowledge.  For  a 
short  time  he  turned  his  attention  to  politics,  and  conducted  a 
political  journal  in  the  country.  After  this  he  was  associated 
with  Mr.  Horace  Greeley,  in  editing  "  The  New-Yorker,"  and 
with  Park  Benjamin  and  Epes  Sargent  in  "The  Brother  Jona 
than"  and  "  The  New  World" — enterprises  eminently  successful, 
which  influenced  in  various  respects,  and  in  an  important  degree, 
the  character  of  the  literary  and  newspaper  press.  In  1842-3, 
he  was  the  editor  of  "Graham's  Magazine;"  and  by  the  at 
traction  of  his  name,  and  the  liberal  policy  which  he  induced 
Mr.  Graham  to  adopt,  was  enabled  to  bring  into  its  list  of  con 
tributors  a  better  corps  of  writers,  perhaps,  than  has  ever  before 
or  since  been  boasted  by  such  a  work.  Among  these  were 
Richard  Henry  Dana,  Washington  Allston,  Cooper,  Bryant, 
Longfellow,  Hoffman,  Willis,  and  others.  While  he  was  editor, 
the  circulation  of  the  Magazine  increased  from  seventeen  thou 
sand  to  twenty -nine  thousand. 

He  has  published  a  large  number  of  volumes  anonymously. 
One  of  these  is  a  collection  of  his  verses,  and  two  others  con 
stitute  a  novel.  He  has  also  brought  out  anonymously,  partly 
or  entirely  written  by  himself,  six  or  eight  works  on  history  and 
biography,  which,  though  they  have  satisfied  the  critics  and  the 
publishers,  appear,  from  being  unacknowledged,  not  to  have 
satisfied  their  author.  He  has  printed,  at  sundry  times,  seven 
discourses  on  subjects  of  history  and  philosophy,  and  a  volume 
of  sermons.  In  reviews,  magazines  and  newspapers  he  has 
written  largely ;  enough  to  fill  a  dozen  octavo  volumes.  In 
1844  he  published  "Curiosities  of  American  Literature."  We 
are  indebted  to  him,  moreover,  for  an  edition  of  The  Prose 


238  LITERARY  PORTRAITS.  [JSrAT.  31. 

Works  of  Milton,  preceded  by  an  eloquent  and  valuable  Life, 
published  in  1846.  This  was  the  first  American  reprint  of  Mil 
ton's  prose,  and  was  a  voluntary  contribution  by  the  editor  to 
the  fortunes  of  a  worthy  and  interesting  man  of  genius,  the  Rev. 
Herman  Hooker,  D.  D.,  then  struggling  to  establish  himself  as 
a  publisher,  and  now  well  known  as  one  of  the  most  liberal  and 
extensive  in  Philadelphia. 

Dr.  Griswold's  position  as  a  man  of  letters,  however,  is  chiefly 
owing  to  his  biographies  and  literary  histories  and  disquisitions, 
in  "  The  Poets  and  Poetry  of  America,"  1842  ;  "  The  Poets  and 
Poetry  of  England  in  the  Nineteenth  Century,"  1844;  "The 
Prose  Writers  of  America,"  1846,  and  "The  Female  Poets  of 
America,"  1848. 

For  the  difficult  office  of  determining,  and  representing  and 
portraying  the  respective  merits  of  the  authors  of  America,  in 
which  he  has  risen  to  an  easy  supremacy,  and  which  now  by 
common  consent  has  been  delegated  to  his  hands,  he  undoubt 
edly  has  many  rare  qualifications.  The  mental  attribute  which 
he  possesses  in  the  most  distinguishing  degree,  and  to  which  his 
success  is  largely  owing,  is  judgment.  To  say  that  he  excels  by 
that  attribute  is  to  award  perhaps  the  highest  praise  that  could 
be  bestowed.  The  loftiest  and  rarest  quality  of  the  mind  is 
judgment.  It  is  above  invention ;  it  is  beyond  eloquence ;  it 
is  more  than  logic.  In  every  employment  and  every  condition 
of  life,  private  and  public,  deliberative  and  executive,  the  as 
cendancy  of  judgment  over  talent,  wit,  passion,  imagination, 
learning,  is  evinced  at  once  by  the  rarity  of  the  endowment,  and 
by  the  superiority  which  it  is  certain  to  confer  upon  its  pos 
sessor.  As  a  comparative  critic,  his  opinions  are  always  entitled 
to  weight.  Sensitive  to  the  finest  indications  of  literary  pro 
mise  ;  apt  to  detect  essential  merit,  under  whatever  guise  of 
oddity,  or  affectation,  or  bad  taste ;  acute  in  perception,  and 
comprehensive  in  sympathy ;  he  holds  aloft,  firmly  and  steadily, 
the  scale  of  just  decision,  and  reports  the  result  without  prepos 
session  and  without  timidity.  He  possesses  a  rapid  and  sure 
coup  d'ceil.  He  surveys  the  merits  of  a  volume  with  a  scrutiny 
as  piercing  as  it  is  brief,  and  arrives  promptly  at  a  result  which 


31.]  BUFUS  TTILMOT  GRISWOLD.  239 

will  commonly  be  found  to  stand  the  test  of  prolonged  examina 
tion.  His  sagacity  has  been  so  often  displayed  and  approved, 
that  there  is  probably  no  one  among  us  whose  opinion  on  a 
question  of  literary  merit  would  have  greater  influence  with  the 
judicious  minds  of  the  country.  His  shrewdness  in  prognosti 
cating  the  popular  taste  is  not  less  acute,  and  his  perception 
of  what  is  likely  to  be  successful  is  as  accurate  as  his  appre 
ciation  of  what  is  really  meritorious. 

The  literary  abilities  displayed  in  the  original  portion  of  these 
works  are  entitled  to  very  high  rank,  and  are  undoubtedly  the 
sufficient  cause  of  their  popularity  and  permanence.  Dr.  Gris- 
wold's  style  is  fresh,  brilliant,  delicate,  perhaps  over-delicate, 
but  never  feeble,  and  rarely  morbid.  With  unerring  accuracy, 
he  always  indicates  the  strong  points  of  his  subject ;  yet  he  in 
dicates  rather  than  seizes  them.  The  outlines  of  truth  are 
always  traced  with  nicety  and  precision ;  yet  are  they  traced 
rather  than  channelled.  His  coloring  is  refined,  soft,  suggestive ; 
dealing  in  half  tints,  or  mixed  hues,  more  usually  than  in  simple 
and  contrasted  colors.  His  perceptions  are  keenly  intelligent, 
and  full  of  vitality  and  vividness ;  but  they  are  too  mercurial, 
fugitive  and  hasty ;  they  want  fixity,  persistency  and  prolonga 
tion.  He  touches  some  rich  element  of  truth  or  beauty,  but  he 
does  not  linger  upon  it  to  develop  and  unfold  its  deep  and  full 
resources  ;  he  merely  touches  it,  and  is  off  in  search  of  some  re 
mote  conception,  which  he  will  strike  and  bound  away  from, 
like  a  glancing  sunbeam.  A  discussion  by  him,  therefore,  is  a 
series  of  gentle  and  delightful  flashes,  not  a  steady  and  prolonged 
blaze.  The  fault  lies  more  in  the  school  than  in  the  performer. 
If  he  uses  water-colors  rather  than  oils,  it  is  because  the  style 
is  in  mode,  and  not  because  the  genius  of  the  artist  could  not 
glow  upon  canvas  as  well  as  glitter  upon  paper. 

But  moral  qualities  of  a  very  unusual  and  very  elevated  sort 
were  needed  for  an  undertaking  like  the  one  which  we  speak 
of,  and  it  is  here  that  Dr.  Griswold's  character  rises  to  excel 
lence.  From  partiality,  from  prejudice,  from  the  bias  of  anger 
and  the  warp  of  affection,  his  nature  seems  to  be  wholly  free.  A 
writer  so  void  of  literary  jealousy  never  was  created  upon  the 


240  LITERARY   PORTRAITS.  [JExAT.  31. 

earth.  He  comes  to  his  work,  too,  without  any  of  those  in 
veterate  predilections  or  antipathies  of  taste  which  most  men, 
as  highly  educated,  contract.  His  views  are  not  moulded  in 
the  forms  of  any  systems,  classes,  or  modes  of  criticism.  His 
candor,  sincerity,  and  utter  fearlessness  in  avowing  his  genuine 
convictions  are  of  inestimable  value  ;  and  there  is  not  only  a  per 
fect  honesty  in  his  mind,  but  a  thorough  freedom  even  from 
unintended  predispositions  and  unconscious  obliquities.  Even 
where  he  cannot  enjoy  he  appreciates,  and  he  points  out  and 
expounds,  for  the  participation  of  others,  that  which  perhaps  to 
himself  may  afford  no  pleasure.  With  some  of  the  people  in 
these  volumes,  his  relations  are  those  of  affectionate  intimacy ; 
with  others  they  are  decidedly  hostile  ;  yet  cavil  itself  might  be 
defied  to  show  an  instance  in  which  he  has  overvalued  the  merits 
of  a  friend  or  done  unfairness  to  the  titles  of  an  enemy. 

But  while  we  affirm  that  the  author  of  these  volumes  has  dis 
played  in  them  remarkable  qualities  of  mind  and  accomplish 
ment,  we  admit  at  the  same  time  that  what  he  has  yet  done  is 
not  worthy  of  the  capacity  which  he  certainly  possesses.  Our 
settled  judgment  is,  that  Dr.  Griswold  is  a  man  of  very  superior 
and  uncommon  talents,  and  that  he  is  destined  to  achieve  much 
that  shall  be  far  beyond  the  line  of  his  heretofore  endeavors. 
We  consider  ourselves  to  be  accurately  acquainted  with  his 
nature  ;  we  have  seen  him  closely  at  sundry  times,  and  in  various 
emergencies  ;  with  a  severe,  rather  than  a  partial  eye,  we  have 
explored  and  measured  a  character  which  interested  our  scrutiny. 
We  are  satisfied  that  neither  the  public  nor  Dr.  Griswold  him 
self  has  formed  a  just  and  adequate  appreciation  of  the  original 
and  commanding  abilities  which  he  has.  If  opinion  has  fallen 
below  his  performances,  they  again  are  below  his  powers.  His 
own  great  infirmity — if  so  interesting  a  peculiarity  may  thus  be 
called — consists  in  a  want  of  mental  self-reliance ;  an  absence 
of  deep,  broad  confidence  in  his  own  inherent  strength.  And 
that  perhaps  has  betrayed  the  judgment  of  the  public  ;  for  the 
latter  is  usually  not  disposed  to  take  a  man  at  a  higher  rate 
than  he  asks  for  himself.  The  community  recognizes  him  as  an 
acute,  searching,  and  correct  critic  ;  as  a  profound  bibliographer 


.  31.]  KUFUS  WILMOT  GRISWOLD.  241 

and  annalist ;  and  as  master  of  a  bright,  pointed,  and  discursive 
style,  light  enough  to  lend  grace  to  the  airiest  topics,  and 
vigorous  enough  to  dash  at  the  weightiest.  Dr.  Griswold  is 
more  than  all  that.  He  is  a  man  of  genius  ;  abounding  in  the 
resources  of  inventive  thought ;  gifted,  evidently  and  copiously, 
with  "the  vision  and  the  faculty  divine,"  which  give  to  the 
world  more  than  they  gain  from  it,  and  glorify  all  that  they 
perceive. 

There  is  a  class  of  minds,  whose  dynamical  condition  is  not 
quite  accordant  with  their  statical  condition  ;  who,  in  what  they 
do,  never  perfectly  represent  what  they  are.  Studied  in  them 
selves,  they  interest  and  impress  ;  followed  in  their  works,  they 
disappoint.  Endowed,  unmistakably,  with  the  characteristics 
of  superiority,  whenever  they  put  themselves  in  action,  some 
unlucky  element  mixes  itself  up  with  the  operation,  some  trick 
of  weakness  displays  itself,  some  false  bias,  some  fatal  affinity 
comes  athwart  the  effort,  to  make  it  miscarry,  and  the  movement 
which  commenced  from  genius  concludes  in  commonplace.  The 
fault  lies  rather  in  the  temperament  than  in  the  talent. 

In  Dr.  Griswold's  case,  the  misfortune,  hitherto,  has  been  that 
his  interest  in  literary  subjects  has  been  so  irritable,  and  his 
energy  sprang  with  such  instantness  to  seize  every  scheme  which 
flashed  before  him,  that  the  strong  and  firm  capacities  of  his  in 
tellectual  being  have  not  had  opportunity  calmly  and  consistently 
to  develop  themselves.  But  within  and  beneath  the  volatile 
curiosity  which  is  engrossed  by  externality,  and  almost  entiiely 
detached  from  it,  is  a  deep,  subtle,  intensely-vital  sensibility, 
which  is  a  fund  of  creative  affluence,  and  which,  when  fully 
worked  out  by  the  owner,  will  yield  magnificent  results.  Sepa 
rated  from  the  electrical  excitability  of  the  upper  and  outer 
surface  of  the  character,  there  lies  a  large  substratum,  whose 
action  possesses  a  galvanic  power  and  exhaustlessness.  Hitherto, 
he  seems  not  to  have  been  able  to  master,  and  get  the  manage 
ment  and  use  of  his  genius.  With  the  power,  he  possesses  much 
of  the  impatience  of  that  nervous  temperament,  which,  when 
controlled,  is  inspiration  and  energy,  but  when  unsubjected,  is 
distraction  and  weakness.  Time,  which  sometimes  builds  up  a 
21 


242  LITERARY  PORTRAITS.  [£!TAT.  31. 

character,  by  a  process  of  breaking  down  its  infirmities,  will 
advance  this  person  into  a  higher  sphere  of  effort  and  distinction. 
When  he  has  worked  out  and  off  the  too  fertile  alluvion,  whose 
rapid  fertility  has  misled  him  as  to  the  true  wealth  of  his  own 
being,  he  will  discern  the  genuine  treasures  with  which  nature 
has  endowed  him,  and  will  address  himself  to  the  duty  which 
rests  upon  the  depositary  of  such  resources.  Of  late,  we  have 
witnessed  a  decided  increase  in  the  force  and  freedom  with 
which  his  native  inspiration  of  thought  throws  itself  abroad. 
What  a  profound,  complete  and  exquisite  estimate  of  the  cha 
racter  of  Poe,  is  that  which  has  recently  been  copied  through 
the  papers  !  Yet  it  was  thrown  off  within  a  few  hours  after  the 
intelligence  of  his  death  reached  the  city  by  telegraph. 

Dr.  Griswold  possesses  remarkable  powers  of  conversation. 
At  a  dinner-table  of  literary  men,  and  men  of  the  world,  few 
will  equal  him  in  the  original,  rapid,  brilliant  flow  of  his  remarks. 
Such  a  scene  is  well  suited  to  display  the  variety  of  his  powers, 
and  almost  unlimited  resources  of  his  information.  When  ani 
mated  by  the  presence  of  a  company  which  commands  his  respect, 
and  kindles  his  ambition,  he  seems  to  rise  to  a  higher  grade  of 
faculties,  to  be  gifted  with  new  powers  of  memory,  and  to  be 
furnished  with  unfailing  supplies  of  appropriate  and  eloquent 
language.  At  such  times,  his  discourse  has  the  readiness,  the 
fluency,  and  the  correctness  of  written  composition.  With  a 
mind  quickly  susceptible  to  every  suggestion  of  enlightened 
curiosity,  he  catches  any  topic  which  you  may  present,  glances 
with  swift  yet  natural  transition  from  the  thing  before  him  to 
something  a  thousand  leagues  away  from  him ;  enters,  if  invited, 
upon  a  critical  discussion  of  some  doubtful  and  difficult  subject 
in  literary  history,  gives  you  new,  particular,  and  exact  views 
of  it ;  or  discusses  the  topics  of  the  day  with  a  vivid  interest, 
and  such  interior  knowledge  as  might  seem  attainable  only  by 
one  habitually  behind  the  scenes  in  all  places.  At  the  least,  he 
always  keeps  his  company  awake,  and  if  a  little  given  to  paradox, 
he  is  not  the  less  on  that  account  a  very  lively  and  very  agree 
able  companion. 

His  social  virtues  are  excellent.    He  is  a  firm,  devoted  friend. 


.  31.]  RUFUS  WILMOT  GRISWOLD.  243 

He  will  go  through  fire  and  water  to  serve  those  whom  he  re 
spects  and  values.  As  an  enemy,  he  is  dignified  and  not  at  all 
vindictive.  In  many  instances  he  has  treated  with  noble  mag 
nanimity,  those  who  did  him  grievous  wrong.  When  the 
confidence  of  his  mind  is  given,  he  displays  a  chivalrous  fidelity 
and  loyalty.  As  "  The  Quarterly"  once  said  of  Dr.  Parr,  he  would 
never  think  of  cutting  an  old  friend  merely  because  he  happened 
to  be  going  to  Botany  Bay.  When  the  town  lays  a  man  down, 
Dr.  Griswold  is  disposed  to  take  him  up  with  increased  ardor. 
He  has  a  sort  of  Coriolanus-passion  for  unpopularity  in  a  good 
cause.  These  are  the  peculiarities  of  a  noble  nature ;  and  if 
they  provoke  the  impertinence  of  the  canaille  of  scribblers,  they 
attract  and  interest  the  sympathies  of  gentlemen, 


FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS. 

[This  and  the  remaining  series  bearing  the  same  title,  are  fragments.  They 
•were  written  in  1837,  and  designed  as  contributions  to  a  work  which  a  young 
college  friend  of  the  author  had  in  contemplation.  In  reference  to  some  ob 
servations  in  them,  it  must  be  remembered  that  they  belong  to  a  date  nearly 
twenty  years  ago :  although  it  may  not  be  necessary,  for  any  evidence  of  im 
maturity  that  they  exhibit,  to  remark  that  they  are  the  production  of  a  boy  just 
then  twenty  years  old. — ED.] 


A  DIALOGUE  BY  THE  SEA. 

The  Ocean — Moral  Reflections — Disquisition  upon  Pope — Pope  and  Byron 
contrasted — Nature  not  always  best  described  by  those  most  familiar 
with  her. 

As  budding  branches  round  a  tree, — 

Thoughts  cling,  with  feelings  fraught, 
Around  the  silence  of  the  sea, 

Itself  a  feeling  thought.— MEADE. 

THE  sun  had  just  set,  and  the  evening  breeze  was  freshening 
from  the  waters,  when  I  went  out  to  pay  my  respects  to  the 
ocean.  Upon  the  whole,  perhaps,  I  would  as  lief  have  gone 
alone,  but  encountering  accidentally  on  my  way  a  person  whom 
I  had  formerly  known  well  and  esteemed  very  highly,  I  pro 
posed  to  him  to  join  my  ramble.  He  assented  and  we  went 
forward  together. 

Robert  Courteney  was  one  of  my  earliest  acquaintances  at 
school,  and  without  any  very  tender  feelings  upon  either  side,  there 
existed  a  tolerably  warm  friendship  between  us  during  the  whole 
period  of  our  connection  as  fellow-students.  From  some  poetical 
compositions  of  his  which  I  had  seen,  the  production  of  his 
21*  (245) 


246  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.        [^TAT.  20. 

youngest  years,  I  had  formed  a  high  opinion  of  his  genius ;  and 
I  was  accustomed  to  think  of  him,  when  in  subsequent  days  my 
memory  recurred  to  our  former  acquaintance,  as  one  who,  if  oc 
casion  were  propitious,  would  probably  be  distinguished  in  after 
life.  He  was  one  of  those  persons  that  we  occasionally  meet 
with,  who  seem  formed  for  pre-eminence,  and  to  have  that 
pre-eminence  yielded  by  all;  one  whose  frank  and  cordial  cha 
racter  excited  so  warm  a  personal  regard  and  interest,  that  in 
admitting  or  asserting  his  claims  to  superiority,  each  seemed  to 
be  gratifying  his  own  private  pride.  He  was  undoubtedly  the 
most  admired  of  all  who  were  at  the  school  while  I  remained 
there  ;  and  his  perfectly  good  temper  and  constant  readiness  to 
engage  in  amusement  rendered  him  also  the  most  popular.  To 
tasks  requiring  either  original  genius,  or  acquired  learning,  he 
seemed  equally  fitted  ;  he  appeared  to  reach  by  a  certain  instinct 
of  mind,  that  familiarity  with  difficult  and  unusual  subjects, 
which  others  by  the  most  plodding  diligence,  less  successfully 
attained.  With  decided  and  unquestionable  poetical  powers, 
he  united  none  of  that  moodiness  of  feeling  and  that  lawlessness 
of  passion,  which  the  history  of  Lord  Byron,  and  the  theories 
of  Mr.  Moore,  have  taught  the  world  to  consider  indispensable 
attributes  of  the  poetical  character.  If  the  practice  of  one 
member  of  a  profession  could  have  justified  a  doubt  of  the 
necessity  of  those  qualities  which  are  usually  demanded  from 
the  rest,  I  might  have  believed  from  the  evidence  which  he 
afforded  me,  that  one  might  still  be  a  bard  without  ceasing  to 
be  a  man  of  honor,  of  principle,  and  of  decency,  and  that,  after 
all,  there  was  no  such  inevitable  divorcement  between  the 
writing  of  verses  and  the  performance  of  the  reasonable  duties 
of  life. 

We  presently  reached  a  retired  part  of  the  beach,  where  the 
broad  expanse  of  the  waters  extended  before  the  eye  in  all  their 
silent  majesty.  The  sentinel  surges  gleamed  far  along  the 
shore,  like  a  white-plumed  triple  line  of  soldiers,  to  guard  the 
rest  of  the  deep. 

"It  is  a  glad  and  glorious  pastime  to  the  spirit,"  said  my 
companion,  "  to  look  upon  this  type  and  token  of  Almighty 


JETAT.  20.]  THE  OCEAN.  247 

power — to  wrestle  with  the  living  thoughts  which  dwell  like 
things  amid  the  stir  and  strife  of  these  eternal  waters — to  en 
counter  the  breathlessness  of  awe  which  comes  upon  the  soul  as 
we  inhale  at  a  glance  the  vastness  of  the  scene.  Upon  the  face 
of  the  deep,  the  spirit  of  eternity  still  is  brooding :  as  we  pause 
before  this  wide  unbarriered  space,  and  our  naked  mind  stands 
bold  against  the  unveiled,  eternal  universe,  a  silent  thought  of 
homage  swells  through  the  endless  space  ;  and  that  thought  is 
God.  The  ocean  is  the  material  image  of  the  Almighty.  What 
attribute  of  Deity  is  not  here  substantial  ?  Power,  of  an  infinite 
fulness; — beauty,  of  that  particular  pervadingness  of  essence, 
that  rain  and  tempest,  and  the  winds  evolve  and  not  efface  it ; — 
life,  abstract  and  indestructible,  that  never  wearies  and  that  never 
wastes — whose  days  know  not  repose,  and  upon  whose  bosom 
the  cloud  of  nightly  slumber  never  weighs.  If  the  dancing 
water-brook  should  cease  to  chant  his  praises  who  inspired  its 
gladness, — or  if  the  infuriate  storm-blast,  as  it  gnashes  through 
the  forest,  should  burst  from  its  bands,  and  disown  its  Maker ; — 
if  men  should  ever  gaze  upon  the  western  sun,  and  forget  whose 
countenance  its  brightness  mirrors,  or  rest  upon  the  mountain 
turf,  nor  own  from  whose  omnipotence  the  strength  of  the  hills 
has  sprung ; — if  the  knowledge  of  the  Infinite  One  shall  ever 
pass  away  from  the  earth,  the  roar  of  the  ocean  will  thunder  it 
back.  It  was  the  sublime  intention  of  Nicholas  Ferrar  that  a 
perpetual  chant  or  solemn  service  of  music  should  be  established 
at  Little  Gidding,  to  be  sustained  by  generation  after  generation, 
and  continued  to  the  end  of  time  without  the  interruption  of  a 
moment.  He  wished  that,  whatever  might  be  the  condition  of 
men  or  the  character  of  the  times,  the  voice  of  praise  might  ever 
be  ascending ;  that  it  should  rise  amid  the  roar  of  contest,  like 
a  smiling  lotus  through  a  tangled  ruin,  and  be  the  blended  har 
mony  of  all  the  thoughts  of  peace ;  that  the  ancestor  and  his 
descendant  might  unite  in  the  same  song  of  thanksgiving,  and 
century  be  bound  to  century  by  an  all-embracing  stream  of  wor 
ship.  What  the  saint  designed,  the  sea  performs.  There  are 
times  perhaps  in  which  from  human  lips  throughout  the  broad 
extent  of  the  earth,  no  sound  of  prayer  or  praise  is  heard ;  but 


248  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.        [^TAT.  20. 

1he  listening  seraph  who  looks  out  from  the  windows  of  heaven, 
hears  the  organ  of  the  waters  peal  everlastingly.  It  is  not 
without  an  influence  which  may  be  termed  holy, — for  its  begin 
ning  is  fear  and  its  effect  is  cleansing, — that  we  niuse  within  this 
great  cathedral  of  the  sky-roofed  deep.  When  first  seen  by 
man,  it  gives  him  a  thought  and  a  disturbance  which,  though 
nothing  can  have  ever  before  started  such  emotions  within  him, 
seem  strangely  familiar  to  his  feelings.  And  when  we  claim  in 
stinctive  brotherhood  with  that  which  stretches  back,  like  a 
broad  sheet  of  light,  to  the  first  moment  that  the  gush  of  sun 
beams  flowed  down  upon  the  waves,  and  forwards  till  the  depth 
of  the  heavens  shall  be  opened,  we  realize  one  of  those  moments 
of  existence  in  which  man  feels  his  immortality  and  trembles  at 
it.  There  are  thoughts  of  mystery  and  dreams  of  magic  floating 
around  this  scene ;  and  there  are  those  who  have  feasted  on 
them  till  they  have  become  maddened,  and  their  life  has  turned 
to  parching  thirst  for  the  fulness  of  these  unearthly  sentiments. 
But  such  thoughts  are  the  food  of  heaven ;  and  while  I  would 
labor  for  their  recognition  as  the  proof  of  heaven,  I  would  post 
pone  their  enjoyment  to  another  life,  and  abide  in  hope  till  the 
veil  of  the  flesh  which  dims  them,  is  withdrawn." 

"There  are,"  said  I,  "many  faculties  of  the  heart  whose  true 
sphere  of  exercise  is  not  in  this  world,  and  which  bear  in  the 
fact  of  their  being,  unequivocal  testimony  that  the  intellectual 
frame  wherein  they  are  lodged,  is  destined  for  employment  in 
another  field  of  existence.  And  you  have  indicated  truly  the 
use  which  should  be  made  of  them :  we  should  question  them 
of  their  secret,  elicit  from  them  the  truth  which  they  have  to 
impart,  and  then  dismiss  them  to  be  more  fully  developed  in  the 
due  revolution  of  time.  And  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  much 
of  the  scheme  of  practical  Christianity  has  the  same  prospective 
reference.  We  do  wrong  in  supposing  that  to  the  earth  only, 
or  even  chiefly,  is  confined  the  application  of  the  requisitions 
of  the  Scriptures ;  that  this  globe  is  the  only  acting  theatre  of 
man,  and  that  the  future  is  but  a  scene  of  calm  and  impassive 
enjoyment.  Our  preachers  err  in  limiting  to  this  small  arena  a 
struggle  and  an  endeavor  which  will  last  through  eternity, — in 


.   20.]  MORAL  REFLECTIONS.  249 

confining  within  mundane  limits,  a  mystery  which  fills  immensity. 
Instead  of  a  blessing  to  man  it  were  a  mockery  of  his  helpless 
ness,  to  expect  him  to  attain  the  full  measure  of  that  perfection, 
than  which  no  more  belongs  to  consummate  purity  :  to  demand 
of  him  to  familiarize  to  his  bosom  and  to  expound  by  his  con 
duct  a  system  before  whose  unfathomable  obscurity  angel  and 
archangel  bow  in  humility;  to  comprehend  which,  cherubic 
wisdom  must  pray  for  added  intelligence  ;  to  fulfil  which,  sera 
phic  ardor  is  not  too  sufficient.  My  opinion  is,  that  those 
commands  which  are  enjoined  upon  us  here,  are  intended  in 
their  completeness  to  apply  to  our  conduct  in  future  worlds, 
when  by  cumulative  energy  through  successive  stages  we  shall 
arrive  at  a  moral  vigor  in  some  measure  adequate  to  the  task. 
And  in  the  very  mode  of  the  exposition  of  these  matters  in  the 
Scriptures,  I  read  a  confirmation  of  this  opinion ;  for  the  doc 
trine  of  faith  is  therein  fully  and  satisfactorily  laid  open,  but  the 
precepts  of  practice  are  imperfectly  and  in  many  cases  impracti 
cably  developed;  giving  glimpses,  as  it  were,  of  that  complete 
scheme,  whose  revelation  is  reserved  for  other  spheres.  For 
spiritual  existence  in  the  great  archipelago  of  worlds  that  fills 
the  ocean  of  infinity  is  not  independent,  but  successive, — death 
being  but  a  '  a  sleep  and  a  forgetting,' — birth,  an  awaking  with 
extended  power.  The  great  sacrifice  which  was  exhibited  in 
our  own  globe  two  thousand  years  ago,  believe  me,  was  not 
confined  to  it.  It  was  a  divine  immolation  for  total  sin  on  the 
great  altar  of  the  universe,  and  its  manifestation  was  simulta 
neous  throughout  the  whole  array  of  planets ;  to  each  there  was 
a  darkening  of  the  sun ;  in  each  a  rending  of  the  veil  in  an  old 
temple  of  superstition.  Those  whe  have  been  cast  on  these 
shores  prior  to  the  revelation  of  atonement,  will  learn  the  heal 
ing  truth  in  some  future  abode  of  their  souls.  It  would  require 
a  mighty  argument  to  convince  me,  that  I  have  not  lived  before 
this ;  it  would  require  an  almighty  one  to  persuade  me,  that  I 
shall  not  live  hereafter.  Meanwhile,  whatever  may  be  our 
future  lot,  there  are  incumbent  upon  us,  here,  momentous  duties 
as  members  of  society.  Let  us,  therefore,  secure  of  the  develop 
ments  of  future  time,  lay  aside  the  pursuit  of  these  unprofitable 


250  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [^TAT.  20. 

speculations  which  the  contemplation  of  nature  forces  on  our 
mind,  and,  girding  ourselves  to  the  task  before  us,  actively 
meet  the  exigencies  of  life,  and  calmly  '  wait  the  great  teacher, 
Death.'" 

"I  have  always  consented,"  said  Courteney,  "to  the  maxim 
of  the  great  moral  poet,  that  the  proper  study  of  mankind  is 
man :  and  I  hold  that  communion  with  nature  is  only  valuable 
to  freshen  and  relieve  the  spirit,  and  to  strengthen  the  heart  to 
pursue  the  study.  Deeply,  as  from  long  acquaintance,  I  am 
attached  to  the  solitary  haunts  where  nature  reveals  herself  to 
her  votaries  in  majestic  loveliness,  and  familiar  as  I  am  with 
the  charms  of  those  fair  spirits  who  preside  over  lake,  and 
stream,  and  mountain,  I  must  still,  in  the  sobriety  of  reasoning 
judgment,  confess  that  those  poets,  who,  like  Shelley  and 
Hemans,  linger  forever  beneath  the  cope  of  air,  and  weave  not 
one  valuable  moral  reflection,  not  one  maxim  of  prudence, 
among  their  verses,  are  not  my  most  cherished  favorites.  The 
light  which  they  dispense  may  be  'light  from  Heaven,'  but  it  is 
not  for  Earth :  it  is  all  thrown  upon  the  by-paths  of  romance 
and  the  groves  of  sentiment,  not  a  ray  illuminating  the  high 
road  of  human  conduct, — that  path  of  action  which,  while  we 
are  men,  must  be  the  chief  field  of  our  footsteps.  They  render 
that  the  essence  which,  in  reason,  is  but  the  accident  of  life ; 
they  make  that  the  substance  of  our  business  which  should,  in 
truth,  be  but  the  gilding  of  our  leisure.  It  is  indeed  of  advan 
tage  to  retire  occasionally  from  pursuing  the  reality  of  virtue  to 
dally  with  its  romance ;  but  these  writers  make  the  argument 
of  the  volume  of  what  affords  but  matter  for  a  parenthesis. 
When  the  recess  of  evening  brings  repose  from  labor,  the  reve 
ries  of  the  fireside  are  in  place ;  but  it  is  worse  than  idle  to 
linger  dreaming  in  the  twilight  of  the  valleys,  when  midday 
duties  await  us  on  the  plain." 

"You  are  of  course,  then,"  said  I,  "  an  admirer  of  Pope  ?" 

"  So  much  so  that,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  of  his  avowed 

followers,  who  have  caught  something  of  his  spirit,  I  question 

whether  there  has  been  any  true  poetry  since  his  days.     Ah  I 

my  friend,  when  I  see  the  age  about  to  crown  with  the  title  of 


.  20.]  POPE.  251 

Immortal,  a  poet  whose  greatest  productions  are  Hymns  to  a 
Butterfly,  and  whose  most  elevated  occupation  is  the  'sentimental 
ogling  of  a  tulip,'  I  fear  that  we  are  in  the  sad  condition  of  the 
degenerate  Israelites ;  having  abandoned  the  God  of  our  fathers, 
and  gone  a-hunting  after  strange  idols.  The  old  Egyptian 
plague  is  renewed  among  us,  and  grasshoppers  and  locusts  have 
gotten  into  the  king's  chamber.  The  community  of  letters  has 
indeed  become  a  republic ;  all  are  now  equal  in  insignificance. 
And  the  extinction  of  monarchy  in  song,  like  that  of  the  political 
monarchy  of  France,  is  followed  by  a  rabble  of  daily  aspirants, 
whose  fame  is  as  brief  as  their  popularity  was  vehement." 

"I  am  afraid,"  said  I,  "that  your  simile  extends  its  applica 
tion  to  your  disadvantage.  If  the  judges  will  not  admit  Byron 
into  the  line  of  legitimate  'kings,'  the  people  will  crown  him  by 
the  title  of  '  emperor.'" 

"I  would  rather,"  replied  Courteney,  "subscribe  to  Byron's 
opinion  of  Pope,  than  the  people's  opinion  of  Byron.  Of  the 
poets  now  in  vogue,  you  must  unman  yourself  to  read  one-half, 
and  unchristianize  yourself  to  admire  the  other.  Aristides, 
being  guilty  of  no  other  crime  than  the  crime  of  being  just,  was 
banished  upon  that  charge ;  and  Pope,  in  the  dearth  of  fault,  is 
condemned  because  he  is  'moral.'  The  ostracists  of  Pope  talk 
much  of  the  necessity  of  'invention'  to  constitute  a  true  poet, 
and  descant  much  on  the  importance  of  '  imaginative'  topics ; 
but  it  is  yet  to  be  proved  that  a  subject  rises  in  poetical  value 
in  proportion  as  it  sinks  in  every  other  value.  How  can  it  affect 
the  beauty  of  the  structure  that  its  foundations  rest  upon  a  rock  ? 
Are  the  garlands  of  Fancy  the  less  lovely,  or  is  their  odor  -the 
less  fragrant,  because  they  are  entwined  around  the  sceptre  of 
Truth  ?  Is  the  splendid  Pharos  that,  sublimely  silent,  gazes  o'er 
the  deep,  the  less  picturesque,  because  its  main  purpose  is 
utility  ?  Is  the  architecture  of  the  Doric  portico  at  Athens  the 
less  exquisite  in  its  impression,  because  it  was  built  for  a  market 
place  ?  Those  critics  must  be  arrant  poetical  Calvinists,  who 
deem  so  vilely  of  their  own  species  as  to  deny  it  to  be  a  worthy 
topic  of  the  poet's  pen.  What  subject  can  be  more  interesting 
than  the  conduct  of  man  ?  more  various  than  the  nature  of  man  ? 


252  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.    [^TAT.  20. 

more  sublime  than  the  duties  of  man  ?  I  admit  then  to  B jron 
the  title  of  Poet  of  the  Ocean, — to  Hemans,  of  Poet  of  the 
Lily ;  I  admit  not — I  demand  for  Pope  the  title  of  the  Poet 
of  MAN." 

"It  was  the  sincerity  of  an  honest  freedom,"  said  I ;  "  the  con 
sciousness  that  he  battled  singly  for  the  right — that  with  a  magic 
transformation  made  the  pen  of  Pope,  as  Paulus  Jovius  said  of 
his  own,  sometimes  a  pen  of  gold  and  sometimes  a  pen  of  iron, 
and  caused  his  couplets  to  flow  around  the  land  with  a  might  of 
sarcasm  unwithstood.  Conservative  in  all  his  feelings,  he  yet 
hated  cant  with  a  fierce  defiance  ;  anxious  to  impress  his  age,  he 
yet  conciliated  no  sect  and  truckled  to  no  party.  Buying  no 
voices  and  leaguing  with  no  confederates,  he  stretched  forth  his 
hand  in  the  name  of  truth,  and  in  that  name  he  wrought  his 
miracles  ; — '  alone  he.  did  it.'  Such  a  man  has  no  need  to  con 
cern  himself  about  popularity ;  he  creates  it,  as  the  sun  creates 
the  day." 

"While  Pope,  in  action,  wandered  into  no  enormous  vices," 
said  Courteney,  "  he  proposed  in  theory  no  extravagant  standard 
of  virtue  :  his  precepts  were  guarded,  as  Mackintosh  finely  says 
of  Paley,  'by  a  constant  reference  to  convenience  and  practice.' 
How  opposite  to  this  is  the  modern  school  of  teachers  1  Look 
at  Shelley  complaining  of  wrong  and  tyranny,  and  eulogising 
purity  and  heavenly  love,  and  then  marrying  two  wives  and 
leaving  one  of  them  to  die  of  a  broken  heart.  Look  at  Cole 
ridge, — who  together  with  Wordsworth  is  essentially  of  the  same 
tribe,' — writing  songs  '  that  bid  the  heavens  be  mute,'  and  leaving 
his  wife  to  the  charity  of  Mr.  Southey,  who  is  about  the  only 
literary  man  of  our  time  who  is  not  ashamed  to  do  his  duty,  and 
is  upon  the  whole  the  most  perfect  character  of  his  age.  This 
poetical  fanfaronade  about  virtue  and  affection,  is  disgusting 
in  the  mouths  of  these  worthless  vagabonds  : 

'  Remember 

How  easier  far  devout  enthusiasm  is 
Than  a  good  action ;  and  how  willingly 
Our  indolence  takes  up  with  pious  rapture. 
Though  at  the  time  unconscious  of  its  end, 
Only  to  save  the  toil  of  useful  deeds.' " 


.ETAT.  20.]  POPE.  253 

"  Pope,"  said  I,  "  has  certainly  done  as  much  to  exalt  the  dig 
nity  of  humanity  by  his  life,  as  to  improve  the  behavior  of  men 
by  his  writings, — an  article  of  commendation  which  can  be  ex 
tended  to  but  few  of  his  brethren.  That  tissue  of  putative  mean 
ness  which  was  woven  by  the  unnumbered  foes  which  his  genius 
had  created,  and  which  Johnson  was  not  unwilling  to  extend, 
Roscoe  has  blown  away  like  the  filrnly  gossamer  of  the  morning ; 
and  presented  us  instead,  with  a  story  as  touching  to  our  feelings 
and  as  honorable  to  our  common  nature  as  any  other  with 
which  I  am  acquainted." 

"  Sir,"  cried  my  companion,  warming  with  enthusiasm  as  his 
mind  dwelt  upon  the  character  of  his  favorite  poet,  "  the  hand 
of  Biography  does  not  present  us  with  a  finer  or  more  generous 
instance  of  a  man  giving  himself  up  solely  and  without  reserve 
to  high  literary  ambition  ; — with  the  solemnity  of  an  Hamilcar 
dedication,  consecrating  himself  at  the  altar  of  fame ;  bringing 
to  it  the  tender  blossoms  of  his  early  boyhood, — to  it,  the  ripened 
fruitage  of  his  elder  years.  Withdrawing  himself  from  the  world, 
and  nursing  in  solitutude  the  fire  of  his  heart,  that  youthful  ar 
dor  which  in  most  cases  is  suffered  to  play  objectless  like  the 
ground-fire  of  the  tropics,  was  by  him  concentered  on  a  single 
object.  With  no  vices,  with  few  foibles ;  free  from  domestic 
cares,  and  safe  from  all  political  disturbance  ;  wasting  not  a  mo 
ment  on  the  transitory, — he  dwelt  apart  in  his  beautiful  villa, 
looking  out  upon  man  as  from  the  window  of  a  castle,  and 
sketching  his  character  and  his  destiny  with  the  calmness  and 
fidelity  of  a  superior  nature ;  in  youth  creating  richly,  in  man 
hood  refining  slowly ;  living  out  his  sad  and  shattered  age  with 
no  other  purpose  before  him  than 

'  To  better  his  life  and  better  his  lay, 
To  virtue's  improvement  and  vice's  decay.' 

Justly  might  he  have  exclaimed,  'quantum  alii  tribuunt  tern- 
pestivis  conviviis,  quantum  aleos,  quantum  piles ;  tantum  mild 
egomet  ad  hcec  stadia  recolenda  sumpsi.'" 

"But  might  not  the  individual  to  whom  those  words  were  self- 
applied,  contest  the  claim  of  Pooe  to  superior  devotion  to  lofty 
fame  ?" 

22 


254  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.    [JExAT.  20. 

"  I  think  not.  The  part  which  Cicero  took  in  public  life  ;  his 
military  longings  ;  his  labors  as  an  advocate  and  prosecutor  ;  his 
occupations  as  a  quasstor  and  consul,  to  all  of  which  he  looked 
for  merely  temporary  distinction,  would  remove  him  from  the 
comparison.  Besides,  you  see  clearly  that  to  present  duties, 
Cicero  gave  the  preference  in  his  own  mind,  and  the  time  which 
he  dedicated  to  labor  for  immortality  was  fragmentary,  not 
continuous  ;  snatched,  not  assigned.  It  is  true  that,  in  the  midst 
of  popular  applause  and  judicial  approbation  ;  amid  the  tumults 
of  official  triumph  and  the  distractions  of  private  luxury — the 
still  small  voice  of  eternal  aspiration  reached  and  stung  his  in 
most  soul :  but  it  was  occasional,  like  the  dim  vistas  which  ever 
and  anon  open  and  close  upon  the  eye  of  one  who  wanders 
through  a  forest.  But  Pope  stood  with  his  face  full-turned  upon 
the  future,  his  eye  resting  nowhere  short  of  the  remotest  posterity ; 
knowing  well  that  the  incense  of  fame  is  the  smoke  of  sacrifice, 
and  that  the  diadem  of  genius  is  the  martyr's  crown.  His  was 
the  sole  glorious  task  to  conquer  immortality ;  unambitious  to 
light  an  earthly  lamp  which  might  attract  the  sidelong  glance 
of  the  passing  traveller,  or  kindle  a  transitory  fire  which  might 
draw  together  the  idle  and  the  vain,  but  emulous  to  plant  a  star 
in  the  eternal  heavens,  which  though  so  distant  that  the  first 
rays  which  reached  the  world  might  shine  upon  his  grave,  yet 
which,  when  seen,  should  be  seen  forever,  and  living  on  in  still- 
abiding  lustre,  become  a  fadeless  portion  of  the  very  frame  of 
nature." 

"  The  change,"  said  I,  "which  has  come  over  the  whole  cha 
racter  of  English  poetry  within  half  a  century,  and  has  extended 
so  deeply  as  to  have  transformed  the  principles  of  criticism,  has 
not  yet  met  with  satisfactory  analysis.  '  Poetry,'  says  Johnson, 
'  has  rarely  been  worse  employed  than  in  dignifying  the  amorous 
ravings  of  a  love-sick  girl:' — what  a  revolution  in  taste  and 
opinion  does  the  date  of  that  remark  exhibit !" 

"  And,  stranger  than  all,"  said  Courteney,  "the  verses  upon 
which  that  bitter  sentence  was  pronounced,  have  been  repeat 
edly  quoted  as  the  sole  evidence  that  Pope  was  a  true  poet.  If 
the  definition  of  poetry  by  the  king  of  poets  be  adopted,  Byron 


.  20.]  TOPE.  255 

and  Wordsworth  and  Hcmans  would  fare  badly.  'A  poem,' 
says  Milton,  speaking  by  the  mouth  of  his  nephew,  Phillips,  '  is 
an  illustration  or  embodiment  of  some  important  moral  truth, 
not  drawn  from  individuality,  but  created  by  the  imagination, 
by  combining,  with  taste  and  judgment,  ingredients  selected 
from  the  stores  of  fancy.'  Had  a  description  been  framed  with 
the  express  object  of  commending  Pope  and  excluding  Byron, 
it  could  not  have  been  more  scrupulously  pointed.  You  can 
not  discover  in  the  noble  poet,  a  single  notion  or  feeling  which 
is  general  in  its  nature,  or  true  upon  universal  application.  The 
ability  to  rise  above  idiosyncrasy — to  project  general  conscious 
ness  into  imagined  circumstance — so  to  expand  the  particular, 
and  peculiarise  the  common,  that  any  given  sentiment  shall  be 
universal  in  reach  and  individual  in  impression — to  widen  views 
into  principles,  and  point  axioms  into  personalities,  so  that  all 
shall  embrace  and  each  indentify — this,  the  keystone  of  poetic 
power,  was  utterly  wanting  in  him.  If  Byron  seems  to  have 
penetrated  more  deeply  into  the  human  heart  than  Pope,  it  is 
because  the  one  digged  so  narrowly  that  the  smallness  of  the  ex 
tent  assisted  the  depth,  and  the  other  opened  so  expansively 
that  the  wrideness  of  the  labor  seemed  to  level  the  profundity. 
The  brilliance  of  Byron's  flashes  proceeds  from  the  ray  being- 
broken  :  Pope's  light  is  the  wrhite  light  of  unrefracted  truth.  To 
present  a  thought  wrhich  shall  be  purely,  precisely,  and  perfectly 
just,  requires  so  many  modifications,  flattenings  and  smoothings 
down  of  the  first  bold  impression,  that  most  artists  have  been 
deterred  from  the  undertaking ;  and  in  the  hands  of  the  few  who 
have  attempted  it,  the  work  has  commonly  slid  into  the  vague 
and  the  commonplace.  Pope  with  unequalled  felicity  has  united 
truth  and  power.  Search  the  rolls  of  poetry  from  Orpheus  to 
the  newest-born,  and  of  philosophy  from  the  first  who  ever 
guessed  to  the  latest  who  has  ever  reasoned  ;  explore  the  enig 
matic  revelations  of  the  dark-thoughted  Brooke,  and  the  lucid 
demonstrations  of  the  mastiff-minded  Hobbes,  and  find,  if  you 
can,  a  passage  so  profoundly  affecting  and  so  exquisitely  uner- 
roneous ;  so  full  of  dignified  pathos,  and  so  instinct  with  majestic 
wisdom — as  his  description  of  the  state  of  man : 


256  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [^TAT.  20. 

'  Born  but  to  die,  and  reasoning  but  to  err : 
Great  lord  of  all  things,  yet  a  prey  to  all ; 
Sole  judge  of  truth,  in  endless  error  Jiurl'd  / 
Tho  glory,  jest,  and  riddle  of  the  world  !' 

Think  of  these  words  amid  the  din  of  worldly  business ;  think 
of  them  in  the  ardor  of  studious  toil ;  think  of  them  in  the 
silence  of  your  midnight  chamber — and  they  shall  seem  to  you 
the  utterings  of  a  prophet's  voice." 

"Bolingbroke,"  said  I,  "somewhere  remarks,  that  we  might 
give  to  certain  learned  plodders,  as  chronologists  and  annalists, 
the  praise  which  their  eminence  challenges,  if  we  could  persuade 
ourselves  that  they  could  have  succeeded  as  well  in  anything 
else ;  and  the  thought,  though  false,  is  natural  and  common. 
If  Pope's  claim  to  reward  for  the  philosophic  be  contested,  as  it 
often  is,  on  the  ground  that  he  wanted  powers  for  the  pathetic, 
the  confutation  of  the  doubt  is  complete  in  a  single  stanza. 
There  is  not  in  the  wide  compass  of  our  literature  a  more 
moving  passage  than  that  in  which  this  poet,  so  morbidly  un- 
egotistic,  turns  from  the  attack  on  the  miserable  detractors  of 
his  time  to  make  one  allusion  to  his  cherished  mother.  The  man 
who  could  write  thus  avoided  the  pathetic  for  a  reason." 

"A  far  deeper  pathos  than  the  pathos  of  sentiment,"  said 
Courteney,  "  is  the  pathos  of  wisdom.  Lord  Byron's  appeals 
to  the  heart  are  about  as  elevated  in  their  character  and  managed 
with  about  as  much  artistic  skill  as  those  which  form  the  tale 
of  the  last  beggar  who  was  wrecked  on  the  coast  of  Barbary. 
There  is  more  of  the  very  heart  and  soul  of  genuine  pathos  in 
one  of  Sir  Thomas  Browne's  magnificent  sneers,  or  in  Gold 
smith's  anticipation  of  the  fate  of  England,  than  in  a  thousand 
dyspeptic  Laras  and  costive  Giaours.  But  whatever  may  be  the 
defects  of  Byron's  poetry,  considered  merely  as  poetry,  his  real 
faults  are  of  another  description :  it  is  not  the  want  of  genius 
that  I  discern,  but  the  want  of  generosity  that  I  lament.  Who 
is  there  that,  fascinated  as  he  might  be  by  the  novelty  of  the 
thoughts ;  the  beauty  of  the  images ;  and  the  splendor  of  the 
diction,  is  not  disgusted  by  the  peevish  and  unmanly  complaint ; 
the  paltry  protrusion  of  self;  the  miserable  vanity  and  person- 


.  20.]  BYRON.  257 

ality ;  and  the  total  want  of  dignity,  elevation,  and  independence? 
A  misanthrope  must  be  a  man  of  a  narrow  soul :  it  must  be  a 
small  mind,  which,  when  irritated  by  ill-treatment,  finds  a  satis 
faction  in  the  impotent  revenge  of  hate.  No  admiration  to 
which  the  genius  of  Byron  might  prompt  me,  could  ever  check 
the  repulsive  scorn  which  is  stirred  within  me  by  the  sight  of  one 
thus  having  'his  eyes  forever  on  himself,'  and  coming  before  the 
world  only  to  tell  it  how  keen  are  his  sensibilities  and  how  painful 
his  indigestions ;  that  he  has  not  loved  the  world,  and  that 
Wordsworth  is  his  aversion  :  never  will  I  so  far  debase  my  own 
inward  dignity  as  to  listen  to  these  wretched  egotisms  of  another, 
much  less  will  I  dwell  upon  and  applaud  the  miserable  petulant 
outbreakings  of  a  disappointed  and  jealous  lordling.  I  respect 
myself  too  highly  to  treasure  up  what  despicable  inuendoes 
against  others,  or  ridiculous  mystifications  about  himself,  any 
other  may  descend  to,  to  gratify  diseased  ambition,  or  soothe  his 
fretted  vanity.  No  !  let  me  dwell  among  manly  poets  ;  among 
those  exalted  older  spirits  from  whose  hymnings  one  rises  re 
buked,  chastened  and  purified,  and  learns  to  '  venerate  himself 
as  MAN  :'  messengers  who  forgot  not  their  mission,  but  made 
their  heaven-descended  genius  parent  of  heaven-ascending 
graces ;  whom  you  read  with  a  free  soul,  and  an  expansion 
of  mind  like  that  bred  by  the  wide  ocean-scene  we  now  survey, 
and  whom  we  lay  down  in  a  better  frame  of  feeling  than  we 
took  up ;  in  better  obedience  of  God's  great  laws ;  in  better 
love  of  our  fellows  ;  and  far  better  appreciation  of  our  own  state 
and  value.  The  transition  from  the  morbid  and  self- dissecting 
poets  of  our  times ;  the  stove-room  and  hot-house  species — to 
the  clear  and  trumpet-voiced  minstrels  of  an  age  gone  by  ; 
Spenser,  Dryden  and  Thomson — is  like  the  passage  from  yonder 
heated  and  dizzy  billiard-room  to  this  clear,  freshening,  bracing 
air.  To  them  and  to  it  we  turn  as  to  exhaustless  sources  of 
high  impression  :  from  it  and  from  them  we  return  as  from  baths 
of  the  soul,  nerved  with  gladness  and  springing  with  enthusiasm. 
For  to  nature  and  to  those  kings  of  song  only,  it  belongs  to 
ever  fascinate  with  never  changing :  we  look  to  the  moon  with 
not  the  less  joy,  because  we  know  that  we  shall  see  but  what  we 
22* 


258  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [^TAT.  20. 

have  seen  from  infancy,  and  read  Milton  with  interest  undi- 
ininislied  by  life-long  familiarity.  Those  great  intelligences  of 
young  time,  are  commensurate  with  nature  and  similar  to  her ; 
their  uniformity  is  like  the  uniformity  of  the  heavens,  the  neces 
sary  oneness  of  complete  perfection  ;  for  when  part  has  reached 
the  summit,  how  can  the  rest  differ  but  by  descending  ?  What 
variation  can  there  be,  but  the  variation  of  inferiority  ?  The  sun 
varies  not,  nor  does  Homer :  his  monotony  is  the  level  line 
which  is  pencilled  on  the  sky,  by  the  highest  ridge  of  the  high- 
looming  hills.  The  mind  loves  to  seize  on  some  great  watch- 
towers  upon  the  shores  of  thought,  and  brace  itself  against  a 
rock  in  the  absorbing  ocean.  The  intellect  would  craze  with 
illimitation,  if  there  were  not  in  the  wide  view  some  eternal 
bounds  of  power,  like  Dante  and  Shakspeare." 

Thus  talked  we  by  the  banks  of  the  sea,  through  the  calmness 
of  twilight,  till  the  moon  shone  clearly  and  the  power  of  its 
light  proved  the  presence  of  darkness.  "  Well,"  said  Courteney, 
turning  to  me  after  a  pause,  "  if  you  wish  to  catch  inspiration  or 
a  cold  any  longer  from  this  scene,  I  see  no  reason  why  you  may 
not ;  but  I,  you  know,  am  a  poet,  and  it  will  never  do  for  me  to 
study  nature  too  long." 

"  But  is  not  that  your  very  business  and  profession  ?" 
"  Fudge !  Take  my  word  for  it,  that  those  who  have  best 
described  nature  have  known  least  about  her,  and  the  noblest 
sonnets  to  the  moon  have  been  penned  in  the  presence  of  a 
sea-coal  fire,  with  shutters  closed  and  curtains  drawn.  When 
we  gaze  corporeally  upon  the  earth  or  sky,  feeling  chokes  intel 
lect,  and  sense  stifles  imagination ;  and  thus  the  right  hand  and 
the  left  of  the  poet  are  paralyzed.  Nature  presents  a  thought 
too  big  to  pass  through  the  channel  of  expression,  and  the 
reason  must  grasp  and  wring  it,  e'er  the  drops  of  Castalia  will 
trickle  from  the  cloud ;  yet  the  reason  is  dashed  by  the  tyranny 
of  vision.  It  is  this  incumbency  of  one  vast  idea  which  renders 
the  inhabitants  of  mountainous  countries  idiots.  We  become 
great,  not  by  putting  impressions  into  the  mind,  but  by  drawing 
them  out ;  they  are  all  in  there.  For  the  infant  soul  was  nursed 
in  the  bosom  of  God ;  and  the  point  where  all  the  converging 


.  20.]  A  DINNER  COMPANY.  259 

and  diverging  rays  of  thought  and  feeling  meet,  is  God ;  she 
therefore  containeth  in  herself  all  consciousness  of  truth  and  all 
sentiment  of  nature  in  like  manner  as  the  centre  containeth  the 
circumference.  But  timid  are  these  inward  emotions,  and  slighter 
than  the  amethystine  air-curls  of  the  spirit  that  sleeps  in  the 
shade  of  the  rose-down;  and,  therefore,  when  the  armed  ideas 
of  externality  troop  rudely  near,  they  lurk  within  and  pretend 
themselves  dead ;  but  when  the  moon-crowned  midnight  of  men 
tal  quietude  circles  the  soul  with  its  still  white  drapery,  then 
step  they  forth  lightly,  slowly,  falteringly,  like  the  fear-vestured 
lady  from  a  sentinelled  camp  to  meet  her  hostile  lover;  and 
ever  by  the  day,  sleeping  in  their  caverns,  lulled  by  the  music 
of  the  heart,  dream  they  audibly,  and  we  may  hear  them  dream, 
and  'tis  that  hearing  which  doth  make  us  poets.  Come,  won't 
you  take  a  game  of  billiards  ?" 

"Certainly,"  said  I;  "we  should  take  the  poetry  and  prose 
of  life  together,  like  bread  and  cheese." 


A  DINNER-PARTY  DIALOGUE. 

A  scientific  Treatise  upon  dining — A  dinner-party — Company  assembles — Phi 
losophy  of  dining — Various  topics  discussed — Roman  dinners — Grecian  din 
ners — Characteristics  of  the  Northern  and  Southern  nations  of  Europe — • 
Proper  age  of  a  cook — Roscoe — Politian — Johnson — Parr — Warburton— 
Webster  —  Byron  —  Bulwer — Sir  Egerton  Brydges — Coleridge — Southey — 
The  moral  tone  of  true  Genius. 

Feasting  hereon,  we  will  philosophise. — SHELLEY. 

A  FEW  weeks  after  the  conversation  with  Courteney,  which 
I  have  already  given,  I  accepted  an  invitation  to  dine  with  a 
gentleman  who  held  among  his  equals  meridian  distinction  in 
that  meridian  art.  Mr.  Benton  was  one  who  had  meditated 
with  that  earnest  and  chastised  devotion  which  so  great  and 
elevated  a  subject  demands,  on  the  best  mode  of  dining;  and 
it  is  paying  but  a  merited  compliment  to  the  genius  and 
study  of  this  good  man,  to  declare  that  he  understood  the  sub 
ject  better,  and  practised  it  with  more  success  than  any  person 


2GO  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [^TAT.  20. 

I  have  ever  met  with.  At  various  times  I  have  been  favored 
with  his  views  upon  this  interesting  subject ;  for,  though  not  ob 
trusive  in  his  proselytism  as  most  discoverers  are,  Mr.  Benton 
was  always  glad  when  an  opportunity  occurred  of  disseminating 
correct  notions  on  this  important  topic,  and  he  had  none  of  that 
selfishness  which  might  impel  him  to  conceal  from  mankind  what 
is  necessarily  never  alien  to  humanity.  But  that  timidity  which 
is  the  fatal  Cleopatra  of  genius,  that  proud  resilience  from  the 
homage  of  the  vulgar,  which  makes  greatness  splendid  and  im 
practicable,  kept  him  always  from  appearing  before  the  public. 
"  He  died  and  made  no  sign ;"  and  the  sauntering  traveller  as  he 
steps  carelessly  over  his  modest  grave,  little  knows  that  he  treads 
above  the  remains  of  one  whose  genius  the  shade  of  Lucullus 
might  venerate,  and  before  whose  labors  the  star  of  Orleans 
might  dim  its  glories. 

When  I  have  sometimes  expressed  to  him  the  sense  which  I 
entertained  of  his  valuable  researches,  and  the  hope  which  I 
cherished  that  he  would  not  suffer  his  discoveries  to  perish  with 
him,  "  I  confess  that  I  have  sometimes  thought,"  he  would  reply, 
"  that  what  you  are  pleased  to  call  my  discoveries  are  not  alto 
gether  without  value,  nor  without  interest ;  as,  indeed,  nothing 
can,  be  that  regards  a  science  which,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  is  in 
dispensable.  My  regard  for  the  welfare  and  melioration  of  my 
fellow-creatures,  has  sometimes  impelled  me  to  wish  that  an  easy 
and  safe  method  presented  itself  of  conveying  to  the  world  at 
large,  some  suggestions  which  the  kindness  of  my  friends  has 
induced  me  to  fancy  not  entirely  valueless,  and  to  perform  that 
duty  which  every  one  owes  to  his  race,  by  handing  down  to  pos 
terity  what  might  be  a  '  possession  for  everlasting'  of  culinary 
metaphysics.  I  have  sometimes  thought  of  publication,  and  in 
deed,  I  have  employed  some  occasional  hours  in  a  few  past  years 
in  the  composition  of  a  small  volume  on  the  subject  of  cookery ; 
but  independently  on  the  reluctance  which  I  feel  to  intrude  upon 
the  grave  world  a  book  which  must  necessarily  be  ungraceful  in 
style,  and  insufficiently  supplied  with  learning, — which,  at  least, 
from  my  want  of  familiarity  with  the  pen,  would  lack  that  me 
lody  of  words  and  harmony  of  sentences,  that  Ciceronian  charm 


£!TAT.  20.]  A  TREATISE   ON  DINING.  261 

of  aptly-balanced  language,  which  would  be  required  in  treating 
of  tliis,  the  first  and  most  finished  of  the  fine  arts, — independently 
on  this  personal  objection,  which  my  vanity  will  not  attempt  to 
deem  slight,  there  is  a  greater  one  inherent  in  the  attempt 
itself;  I  mean  the  combat  which  in  its  tender  veal-like  infancy  it 
must  sustain  with  those  butchering  critics  and  reviewers  who 
ever  stand  at  the  gate  of  knowledge,  pen  (knife)  in  hand ;  for 
these  gentlemen  rudely,  gracelessly,  and  unreasonably  oppugning 
and  running  counter  to  the  precept  of  the  immortal  Louis  Eus- 
tache  Ude,  to  whom  be  honor,  long  life,  and  the  gratitude  of 
grateful  men !" 

"Amen,  and  amen!"  cried  I. 

"  Opposing,  I  say,  that  precept  of  His,  which  forbids  us  to 
slay  a  calf  in  its  tender  youth,  but  to  sheathe  the  knife  till  his 
beef-hood  shall  be  attained  ;  they  rush  savagely  upon  a  scarce- 
fledged  writer,  and  kill,  serve  him  up  with  a  garni  of  sauce,  be 
fore  he  has  grown  robust  by  age.  Whether  it  be,  as  Goethe  con 
jectured,  that  by  some  personal  misconstruction  of  mind ;  by  a 
peculiar  obliquity  in  their  moral  constitution ;  by  the  frame  of 
their  mental  powers  ;  by  the  very  condition  of  their  existence — 
these  people  are  prevented  from  telling  the  truth,  certain  it  is 
that  such  a  thing  as  a  generous  and  genial  criticism  is  as  rare  as 
half-boiled  beef.  To  me,  much  reflecting  upon  these  matters,  it 
has  appeared  that  the  evil  arises  from  the  unfortunate  position 
of  these  anti-authors :  for  authors  and  professional  critics  hold 
much  the  same  relation  to  one  another  that  England  does  to 
France ;  a  relation,  according  to  Mr.  Fox,  of  national  enmity. 
They  have  adopted  the  lying  maxim,  that  ridicule  is  the  test  of 
truth,  where,  in  fact,  it  is  the  greatest  enemy  truth  has  ever  had  ; 
being  much  such  a  test  as  proving  a  sword  upon  a  stone,  trying 
a  liquid  by  evaporation,  or  searching  for  vitality  with  a  scalpel ; 
whatever  may  be  the  result,  the  object  examined  is  destroyed  for 
ever.  They  have  let  in  the  laughers  into  the  gardens  of  Philo 
sophy  ;  the  baying  hounds  into  the  still  coverts  of  the  ruminating 
stag.  And  they  are  sure  to  be  supported  by  the  populace,  for 
the  populace  loves  to  demolish  ;  I  never  heard  of  a  mob  assembled 
to  construct.  The  more  I  consider  this  affair  of  laughing,  the 


262  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [JETAT.  20. 

more  absurd  and  unworthy  it  appears  to  me.  But  the  reviewers 
can  do  nothing  else,  being  like  those  tormented  spirits,  the 
ghosts  of  scoffers,  described  in  an  ancient  legend,  who  are  con 
demned  to  expiate  their  sins  by  grinning  painfully  through  all 
eternity.  Similar  is  the  critic's  destiny ;  for,  humanity  and  the 
fresh  feelings  of  unshackled  sympathy  being  dead  within  them, 
they  become  even  as  dead  men,  and,  like  skeletons,  deriding  hu 
manity  ;  and  they  thrust  forward  thetr  ever-grinniug  visages  into 
the  Egyptian  feast  of  literature,  and  humble  their  author  by  the 
claim  of  fraternity." 

Unfortunately,  Mr.  Benton  could  not  look  with  such  tranquil 
philosophy  on  these  things,  as  Sterne*  did,  and  the  world  lost 
forever  the  benefit  of  his  meditations.  His  best  and  most  honor 
able  "  works,"  however,  were  such  as  could  not  well  be  communi 
cated  to  the  world,  in  substance,  nor  could  the  world  give  them 
a  tribute  meet  for  their  desert.  One  of  these  I  was  about  to 
allude  to,  when  interrupted  by  this  digression. 

I  arrived  at  the  house  before  any  of  the  company  were  as 
sembled.  Soon  after  I  had  reached  the  drawing-room,  a  vene 
rable  but  most  cheerful-looking  man,  whom  I  knew  at  once  to 
be  an  ecclesiastic,  entered,  and  with  an  uncertain  step,  something 
between  a  trip  and  a  totter,  made  his  way  to  the  host  and  bowed 
with  entire  simplicity,  but  with  the  air  of  a  man  perfectly  ac 
customed  to  the  great  world.  He  was  short  in  stature,  and  his 
feet  were  the  smallest  I  ever  saw ;  his  person  was  firm,  and  face 
un wrinkled,  although,  to  judge  by  his  total  baldness,  "  his  eight 
ieth  year  was  nigh."  His  figure  was  a  good  deal  bent,  but  ap 
parently  more  from  study  than  age ;  and  his  head  generally 
rested  on  his  breast,  but  was  very  frequently  thrown  up  with  a 
mild  impatience,  or  forward  with  a  kind  of  restless  nod.  He 
had  a  habit  of  drawing  in  the  air  between  his  teeth  every  few 
moments  with  a  curious  noise ;  an  action  which  he  incessantly 
displayed  when  another  was  speaking,  together  with  many  other 

*  "As  we  rode  along  the  valley,"  says  Sterne  in  one  of  his  letters  from 
France,  "  we  saw  a  herd  of  asses  on  the  top  of  one  of  the  mountains.  How 
they  viewed  and  reviewed  us  !" 


.  20.]  A  DINNER  COMPANY.  26S 

of  the  innumerable  tricks  of  a  nervous  man.  Mr.  Benton  named 
him  to  me  as  Dr.  Gauden. 

"  Sir,"  growled  the  doctor,  with  great  urbanity,  mumbling  and 
biting  his  words  as  he  spoke,  "I'm  very  happy  to  make  your 
acquaintance.  I  knew  your  grandfather  very  well,  very  well, 
indeed;"  throwing  up  his  head  and  muttering  almost  to  himself, 
" ah  !  ah  !  so  it  is  !  dead  and  gone!"  then  turning  his  back  on 
me  and  limping  off  to  a  chair,  he  continued  soliloquising  with  an 
alternate  nod  and  toss  of  the  head :  "ah  !  as  Yarro  says,  '  velus- 
tas  non  pauca  depravat,  multa  tollit.  Quern  puerum  vidisti 
formosum  nunc  vides  deformem  senectu.  Tertium  seculum 
non  vidit  eum  hominem,  quern  vidit  primum.1 " 

Dr.  Gauden  had  been  educated  for  the  Catholic  priesthood  at 
one  of  the  old  colleges  of  France,  which  have  formed  for  many 
years  the  noble  nursing-mothers  of  the  Romish  clergy  of  Pro 
testant  countries.  There  he  had  been  thoroughly  imbued  with 
ancient  lore,  and  taught  to  know  the  ancient  writers  and  the 
Fathers  as  familiarly  as  the  divines  and  classics  of  his  native 
tongue.  When,  in  later  years,  he  departed  from  the  church  of 
his  fathers,  he  took  with  him  all  the  tastes  and  habits  which  he 
had  formed  in  its  bosom ;  and  though  becoming  an  active 
Protestant  clergyman,  "  the  scent  of  the  cloister  had  clung  to 
him  still." 

Testa  recens 
Quo  semel  est  imbuta,  diu  servabit  odorem. 

lie  lived  entirely  among  the  old,  illustrious  authors ;  for  modern 
books,  he  said,  only  repeated  one  another.  He  fed  his  mind 
upon  the  golden  pages  of  Tertullian  and  Chrysostom,  of  Cicero 
and  Plato,  for  it  was  the  aliment  to  which  it  had  been  accus 
tomed.  His  memory  was  "rich  with  the  spoils  of  time ;"  and 
his  conversation  abounded  with  choice  fragments  of  Pagan  and 
Christian  eloquence.  His  quotations  had  nothing  of  pedantic 
in  their  frequency,  but  seemed  to  be  the  natural  overflowing  of  a 
full  mind.  If  he  wove  into  his  common  discourse,  a  "  thread  or 
two  drawn  from  the  coat  of  an  apostle,"  or  gave  his  hearers  "  a 
smack  of  Augustin  or  a  sprig  of  Basil,"  all  knew  that  the  display 


264  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [JET  AT.  20. 

was  not  an  exhibition  of  vanity :  ignorance  was  not  alarmed, 
and  taste  was  not  offended. 

A  few  minutes  after,  Mr.  Rolle  entered  the  room ;  a  man 
of  singularly  feeble  and  delicate  frame,  and  a  countenance  full 
of  feeling  and  poetry ;  a  vague,  uncertain  smile  played  con 
stantly  about  his  mouth,  indicating  one  whose  thoughts  mostly 
floated  in  some  inner  sphere  of  sentiment  and  rarely  appreciated 
the  reality  of  the  real  things  around  him  ;  an  impression  which 
was  assisted  by  the  dreamy  stare  of  his  large,  moist,  gray  eye. 
He  entered  the  room  in  an  amusing  state  of  excitement,  and, 
trembling  with  emotion,  addressed  his  host  in  broken  and  almost 
tearful  accents. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Benton,  could  not  you  have  dinner  postponed 
for  a  little  while  until  I  recover  my  composure  ?  You  see  how 
excessively  I  am  excited  :  I  cannot  appear  at  the  table  with  any 
propriety." 

"Do  not  concern  yourself  about  that,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Mr 
Benton.  "  The  company  consists  of  your  own  particular  friends, 
and  I  am  sure  that  they  will  excuse  any  disorder  in  youi 
manner." 

"  Oh  !"  replied  the  other,  "  it  is  not  for  them  that  I  care  ;  it 
is  for  myself.  How  can  I  enjoy  my  dinner  in  such  a  state  of 
embarrassment  ?  How  can  I  come  with  agitated  nerves  and  an 
excited  mind  to  a  task  which  above  all  others  requires  'the  con 
science  pure,  the  easy  mind,' — a  reason  undisturbed  by  passion, 
senses  cool,  critical  and  keen  in  nice  detection, — a  body  and  a 
spirit  perfectly  at  rest,  like  the  stone  beneath  the  JEgis  of  wis 
dom  ?  Couldn't  you  put  off  your  dinner  till  to-morrow  ?  I  am 
sure  these  gentlemen  would  as  lief  come  to-morrow." 

"My  dear  friend,"  said  Benton,  laughing  heartily,  while  Rolle 
stood  the  picture  of  humorous  perplexity,  "  you  shall  dine  with 
me  both  to-day  and  to-morrow ;  and  to  secure  you  the  degree 
of  coolness  necessary  to  the  free  and  full  exercise  of  your  unri 
valled  powers  of  analysis,  you  shall  be  brought  here  to-morrow, 
like  a  salmon,  in  an  ice-basket.  Meanwhile,  as  a  dinner  is  not 
like  a  debate,  a  matter  which  may  be  adjourned,  I  hope  that 
if  you  sit  down  in  that  corner  and  take  out  your  wrist-buttons, 


<ffiTAT.  20.]  A  DINNER  COMPANY.  265 

and  suffer  me  to  fan  you  gently,  you  may  at  length  be  recovered 
into  a  tolerable  condition  for  dining.  But  what  has  been  the 
cause  of  this  terrible  disturbance  ?  Have  you  been  waylaid  ? 
Have  you  been  fired  at  ?  Have  you  been  robbed  ?" 

"Worse,  worse  !"  replied  the  other.  "  Sit  down  and  I  will 
tell  you  about  it :  but  do  not  look  so  strongly  at  me,  for  it  ex 
cites  me  more ;  look  naturally.  The  event  which  has  so  much 
discomposed  me,  is  this :  I  was  coming  here  when  I  met,  two 
corners  off,  a  servant-boy,  with  two  magnificent  rock-fishes — a 
rarity  in  these  times,  more  golden  than  gold.  They  were  fishes 
like  those  described  in  AthenaBus,  aeavafoist  ^e'oeac  <j>i^i>  xai  ft'Soj- 
o/jLoiai,  'in  shape  and  nature  like  the  immortal  gods.'  The 
wretch,  to  whose  care  some  malignant  demon  had  entrusted 
these  spoils  of  Neptune,  instead  of  carrying  them  with  cautious 
solemnity,  as  the  charge  demanded,  went  swinging  them  both 
in  one  hand,  with  utter  carelessness,  and  bruising  them  by 
striking  them  against  one  another.  Instantly  I  perceived  this 
barbarous  and  atrocious  conduct,  I  rushed  across  the  street, 
and  seizing  the  boy,  demanded  to  know  by  what  infatuation 
he  was  possessed  to  treat  those  fishes  in  such  a  manner.  He 
replied,  insolently,  that  the  fishes  were  his  master's,  and  that  if 
the  latter  knew  how  he  carried  them  he  would  have  no  objection. 
I  told  him  that  I  should  go  with  him  to  his  master  and  see 
whether  he  allowed  such  animals  to  be  destroyed  in  that  man 
ner,  and  that  if  he  did  not  resent  it,  I  should  punish  him  myself 
for  such  a  public  outrage.  Hereupon  the  boy  fled,  leaving  me 
alone  with  the  precious  prizes :  upon  examining  them  I  found 
one  of  them  utterly  ruined  by  the  bruises  it  had  got.  Hinc  illce 
lachrymce:  and  judge  thou  if  there  be  not  cause.  The  other,  I 
thank  God,  is  safe." 

"  And  where  is  it  ?"  cried  Benton,  with  some  curiosity. 

"In  my  hat  in  the  entry,"  replied  Kolle,  in  a  whisper. 
"  Come  and  dine  with  me  alone  to-morrow  at  ten,  and  we  will 
eat  it." 

This  conversation,  which  gave  me  a  glimpse  of  that  most 
curious  of  all  characters,  a  sentimental  gourmand,  was  inter 
rupted  by  the  entrance  of  a  gentleman  of  Herculean  proportions, 
23 


266  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [^TAT.  20. 

oddly  habited  in  a  scarlet  hunting-jacket,  loose  pantaloons,  and 
a  colored  neckcloth  loosely  tied  about  his  neck.  His  face  had 
a  fine,  frank,  but  firm  expression ;  and  his  large,  keen  eye  de 
noted  high  intelligence.  His  manners  were  natural  and  unre 
strained — the  behavior  of  a  man  who  lived,  not  against,  but 
above,  the  usage  of  the  world  ;  and  was  directed  to  such  conduct 
by  his  strong  love  of  perfect  freedom,  and  supported  in  it  by  the 
calm  consciousness  of  powers  and  a  reputation  which  would 
protect  him  against  remark.  Such  a  style  of  address  adopted 
by  a  man  of  fresh  and  rich  intellect  and  tempered  by  native 
delicacy  and  refined  taste,  renders  intercourse  delightful.  It  is 
a  high  relief  to  escape  from  the  wearisome  mistrust  and  the 
unworthy  egotism  of  artificial  manners,  and  from  the  confine 
ment  of  small  talk  which  good  breeding  imposes,  because  all 
may  not  be  capable  of  large  talk:  you  have  the  keen  pleasure 
of  freely  coping  a  generous  intellect,  together  with  the  gentle 
gratification  of  being,  as  habitual  vanity  suggests,  in  one  respect 
above  your  companion.  There  was  an  odd  mixture  of  rudeness 
and  refinement  in  the  character  of  Mr.  Wilkins:  he  was  at  once 
a  scholar  and  a  boxer,  a  poet  and  a  good  fellow. 

Soon  afterwards  the  Count  de  Bienne  was  announced,  a  gen 
tleman  whom  I  had  known  some  years  before  quite  intimately 
in  Vienna.  He  was  a  man  of  ancient  family,  and  the  possessor 
of  an  extensive  fortune.  He  had  been  left  very  early  an  orphan, 
and  being  master  of  his  own  actions,  had  gone  to  reside  in 
America  while  a  boy,  and  there  he  had  spent  his  youth.  He 
afterwards  lived  several  years  in  England,  and  had  subsequently 
visited  almost  every  country  in  the  world.  He  more  fully 
realized  to  my  conceptions  the  notions  of  a  "citizen  of  the 
world,"  than  any  person  I  have  ever  met  with.  He  spoke 
English,  French  and  German  equally  and  perfectly  well ;  had 
no  prejudices  and  no  partialities ;  and  seemed  to  sympathize 
equally  and  heartily  with  all  nations  and  classes.  He  appeared 
to  be  a  member  of  all  religions  at  once,  and  an  admirer  of  all 
existing  forms  of  government  at  the  same  time :  that  is,  he 
knew  that  abstract  truth  was  a  chimera,  and  that  theories  of 
liberty  were  a  fallacy,  and  that  there  is  no  other  real  propriety 


.  20.]  PHILOSOPHY   OF   DIXING.  26T 

or  justice  than  that  which  arises  npon  right  relation.  Throwing 
himself  into  the  situation  and  feelings  of  different  nations,  he 
saw  that  the  creed  and  the  policy  of  each  were  those  that  were 
best  suited  to  their  condition,  their  wants,  and  their  circum 
stances.  There  was  scarcely  any  subject  that  concerned  moral 
or  social  truth,  on  which  Count  de  Bienne  had  not  thought  deeply ; 
and  upon  all,  his  views  were  equally  original  and  striking.  The 
singular  independence  of  his  opinions  might  be  attributed  to  his 
always  living  alone,  and  to  his  having  so  fully  observed  the 
varieties  and  contradictions  of  human  judgments  and  prepos 
sessions,  as  to  be  alike  indifferent  to  all  of  them. 

After  the  entrance  of  two  or  three  other  persons,  dinner  was 
announced. 

"What  is  the  reason,"  said  Mr.  Wilkins,  as  the  tureens  were 
taken  off,  "that  we  always  find  soup  served  before  our  meats  ? 
Vermicelli  is  at  best  a  tasteless  affair,  and  only  takes  away  that 
appetite  which  should  be  reserved  for  worthier  viands." 

"Sir,"  replied  Mr.  Benton,  "you  have  hit  upon  the  very 
reason.  Soup  is  provided  for  the  purpose  of  removing  that 
keen  animal  appetite  whose  violence  disturbs  the  mind  in  the 
nice  perception  of  the  harmony  of  tastes.  Criticism  is  feeling ; 
and  it  is  too  delicate  to  distinguish  finely  when  the  senses 
are  craving  the  strong  physical  gratification  which  nature  and 
habit  have  made  necessary  to  them.  There  are  two  distinct 
pleasures  in  eating :  the  first  consists  in  simply  appeasing  the 
appetite, — the  second  in  calmly  exercising  the  sense  of  taste. 
The  latter  is  the  natural  delight  springing  from  the  action  of  one 
of  the  physical  sources  of  enjoyment :  the  former  is  the  inde 
pendent  pleasure  caused  by  supplying  or  removing  a  painful 
want,  on  the  general  principle 

That  every  want  which  stimulates  the  breast 
Becomes  a  source  of  pleasure  when  redrest. 

You  are  a  snuff-taker,  Mr.  Wilkins,  and  you  know  that  every 
pinch  of  snuff  gives  you  two  distinct  delights, — that  of  pleasing 
the  smell,  and  that  of  gratifying  an  animal  want  which  custom 
has  created.  You  as  a  sportsman  also  know  how  inconsistent 


268  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.    [^ETAT.  20. 

is  the  exercise  of  taste  with  strong  appetite ;  for  at  the  end  of  a 
day's  hunt  you  find  cold  beef  as  agreeable  as  terrapins,  and  per 
haps  more  so ;  because  the  more  delicate  pleasure  is  absorbed 
in  the  stronger,  and  what  most  gratifies  the  latter  is  most  accept 
able.  As  but  one  of  these  pleasures  is  worthy  of  a  sentient 
being,  we  provide  soups  to  extinguish  the  other ;  that  is,  we 
destroy  hunger  to  create  taste." 

"That  is  reasonable  enough,"  said  Rolle;  "but  surely  no 
man  of  sense  ever  allows  himself  to  get  hungry.  From  the  first 
moment  that  I  could  reflect  justly  on  the  '  end  and  aim'  of  human 
existence,  I  do  not  think  that  I  have  ever  been  hungry." 

"It  is  curious,  by  the  way,  to  observe,"  continued  Benton, 
"  that  the  wise  ancients  had  the  same  custom.  Their  supper, 
which  corresponds  to  our  dinner,  was  preceded  by  an  ante- 
ccenum,  which  consisted  chiefly  of  wine  thickened  with  honey. 
The  commentators  say  that  this  was  to  quicken  the  appetite ;  but 
honeyed  wine  must  certainly  have  had  an  opposite  effect." 

"The  succession  of  dishes,"  said  Rolle,  "is  a  subject  worthy 
of  the  most  profound  consideration.  I  regard  the  architecture 
of  an  entertainment  as  one  of  the  highest  of  the  fine  arts.  When, 
at  the  close  of  a  well-cooked  and  well-arranged  dinner, — such  a 
dinner  as  Mr.  Benton  would  choose  to  give,  and  I  would  choose 
to  eat,- — I  review  the  whole,  it  rises  upon  my  mind  like  a  sym 
phony  of  Beethoven's, — a  succession  of  elements  harmoniously 
combined  and  exquisitely  diversified.  The  beaux  arts,  by-the- 
by,  are  vastly  more  numerous  than  is  commonly  suspected. 
Dancing  is  unquestionably  one  of  them,  and  eating  is  another. 
The  latter  is  a  science,  which,  as  Sieyes  said  of  politics,  je  crois 
avoir  achevee :  I  have  brought  it  to  perfection.  But  there  is 
another  of  the  senses  to  which  there  is  no  corresponding  fine 
art ;  for,  while  the  hearing  has  music,  and  the  sight  has  archi 
tecture,  the  objects  which  address  the  smell  have  never  been 
reduced  to  a  system.  I  have  been  engaged  in  investigating  the 
matter  aesthetically,  and  have  nearly  succeeded  in  constructing 
a  gamut  of  odors,  and  I  hope  soon  to  present  to  my  friends  an 
overture  of  flowers.  But  let  us  postpone  this  discussion  till 
dinner  is  over." 


.  20.]  PHILOSOPHY  OF  DINING.  269 

"  The  notion  of  Mr.  Rolle  is  true,"  said  Wilkins.  "  The  great 
principle  of  the  universe,  moral  and  physical,  is  relation ;  and 
the  sole  business  of  the  mind, — the  only  thing  about  which  it 
can  possibly  employ  itself, — the  primary  point  at  which  its 
operation  begins,  and  the  terminating  bound  at  which  it  stops, — 
the  first  step  it  takes  from  the  domains  of  the  sensible,  and  the 
last  progress  it  achieves  in  the  regions  of  the  intellectual,. — is 
the  perception  of  relation.  The  soul,  says  Plato,  is  a  harmony ; 
and  by  the  soul  he  means  that  mass  of  organized  thought  and 
feeling  which  belongs  to,  and  is  our  moral  existence ;  and  by 
harmony  he  means  just  relation;  these  hoarded  perceptions 
of  just  relation  throughout  all  things,  make  the  soul.  There  is 
a  mental  and  a  physical  perception  of  relations ;  that  is,  a  per 
ception  by  the  mind  and  by  the  senses.  The  former  gives  rise 
to  sciences  and  the  latter  to  fine  arts.  The  fine  arts  therefore 
may  be  defined  the  evolution  of  harmony  in  the  objects  of  the 
senses.  Metaphysically  they  are  but  one  ;  physically  they  are 
indefinite  in  number.  Wherever  there  is  a  harmony  in  sound, 
motion,  size,  form,  smell,  taste  or  touch,  there  there  is  room  for 
a  fine  art.  This  notion,  which  I  but  obscurely  hint  at  now,  gives 
rise  to  a  new  metaphysical  system.  I  am  a  materialist,  and 
regard  thinking  as  one  of  the  fine  arts.  I  shall  some  day  or 
other  publish  a  quarto  volume  on  the  subject,  with  an  appendix 
of  maps." 

"I  hope,"  said  Dr.  Gauden,  "the  chapter  on  the  aesthetics 
of  eating  will  be  illustrated  by  plates." 

"It  is  curious  to  observe,"  continued  Wilkins,  "how  often 
poets  and  others,  writing  not  from  a  priori  reasoning,  but  from 
the  natural  instinct  of  impression,  have  alluded  to  harmony  in 
matters  of  form.  The  word  music  which  they  employ  denotes 
mere  harmony  ;  and  both  of  these  words  have  been  restricted  to 
or  derived  from  matters  of  sound,  probably  because  the  mind, 
being  greatly  under  the  tyranny  of  vision,  deemed  the  relation 
of  what  was  perceived  by  another  sense,  more  abstract  and  un- 
material  than  the  perceptions  of  the  sight,  and  so  gave  to  that 
science  or  drew  from  it  the  generic  name  of  the  whole  operation. 
Sir  Thomas  Browne  says,  '  There  is  a  music  even  in  beauty,  and 
23* 


270  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [^TAT.  20. 

the  silent  note  which  Cupid  strikes,  far  sweeter  than  the  sound 
of  an  instrument.'  Byron,  in  '  The  Bride  of  Abydos,'  speaks  of 
'the  mind,  the  music,  breathing  from  the  face.'  Milton  says, 
'  The  hand  sang  with  the  voice,  and  this  the  argument.'  An  old 
law  reporter  dwells  with  delight  on  '  the  music  of  a  well-written 
act  of  parliament.'  From  a  feeling  of  the  same  sort  the  Greeks 
gave  to  colored  stones  arranged  in  varied  order  the  name  of 
'mousaic,'  which  modern  speech  has  corrupted  into  'mosaic.7 
When  the  old  philosopher  spoke  of  the  music  of  the  spheres,  he 
meant  the  harmony  of  form  and  motion,  and  had  no  allusion 
whatever  to  sound :  neither  had  Wordsworth  when  he  heard 
'the  still,  sad  music  of  humanity,  nor  harsh,  nor  grating,' — he 
was  referring  only  to  the  melody  of  virtuous  conduct  in  the 
midst  of  suffering.  Bacon,  in  a  similar  spirit,  speaks  of  '  the 
breath  of  flowers'  coming  and  going  in  the  air,  '  like  the  warbling 
of  music.' — There  is  another  consideration  connected  with  this 
which  affords  scope  for  talent.  If  these  arts  are  the  relations 
of  homogeneous  elements,  mathematics,  which  is  the  science  of 
pure  and  abstract  relation,  is  certainly  capable  of  being  applied 
to  them.  There  can  be  no  question  that  algebra  or  the  calculus 
possess  within  themselves  the  capacity  of  expressing  composite 
sounds  and  solid  forms,  and  all  other  matters,  as  well  as  numerical 
quantities  and  linear  shapes.  I  do  not  yet  despair  of  seeing  the 
formula  of  a  temple  or  an  overture.  Indeed  I  am  persuaded 
that  even  thought  is  reducible  to  definite  primary  elements,  and 
that  an  equation  might  be  constructed  which  should  express  all 
the  possible  combinations  of  these  elements,  and  so  contain  all 
that  man  can  think  on  all  subjects.  No  human  head  perhaps 
could  do  it,  and  no  human  sheet  of  paper  contain  the  equation ; 
but  still  theoretically  the  thing  is  possible." 

During  the  delivery  of  this  harangue,  Mr.  Rolle  had  been 
diligently  engaged  in  "unlocking  the  hidden  soul"  of  flavor 
from  a  cancre  commun,  and  I  had  overheard  him  ejaculating 
audibly,  "Lord!  how  good!"— "  Oh!  how  delicious  !"— "  0— 
oh  Lord,  0 — oh  Lord;"  and  occasionally  exclaiming  fretfully, 
"I  wish  that  Wilkins  would  hold  his  tongue;  how  can  a  man 
eat  when  there  is  so  much  talking  ?" 


20.]  PHILOSOPHY  OF  DIXIXG.  2H 

"Besides  this,"  continued  Mr.  Wilkins,  resuming  his  argu 
ment, — 

Mr.  Rolle  rose  upon  his  feet :  "  Mr.  Wilkins,  it  is  my  duty  to 
inform  you,  that  unless  you  cease  making  a  noise  I  shall  leave 
the  room ;  yes,  sir,  unless  your  discourses  are  deferred  I  shall 
dine  in  the  entry,  with  my  plate  on  a  chair.  It  is  impossible 
that,  amid  the  distraction  and  mental  harassment  which  listening 
and  thinking  occasion,  any  man  should  bring  to  the  dishes  that 
calmness  of  soul  and  concentration  of  mind  which  such  a  pro 
fession  as  eating  demands." 

"  Mr.  Rolle,"  said  Wilkins,  "  will  you  allow  me  the  honor  of  a 
glass  of  wine  with  you  ?" 

"With  great  pleasure,  Mr.  Wilkins,"  said  Rolle,  relapsing 
into  his  chair. 

"The  ancients,  Mr.  Rolle,"  resumed  Wilkins,  "thought  it 
well  that  something  should  amuse  the  mind  during  the  moments 
of  dining,  so  that  the  senses  might  be  at  liberty  to  gambol  in 
delight  'at  their  own  sweet  will.'  They  therefore  provided 
music  at  their  entertainments,  to  absorb  the  spiritual  part  of 
man.  Talking,  if  you  would  talk,  might  serve  the  same  pur 
pose.  Is  not  my  authority  correct,  Dr.  Gauden  ?" 

"But  Euripides,"  growled  the  doctor,  "objects  to  music  at 
feasts,  as  being  a  superfcetation  of  enjoyment,  and  directs  the 
song  to  be  reserved  for  dolorous  occasions.  '  A  concert  of  music 
in  a  banquet  of  wine,'  says  the  author  of  Ecclesiasticus,  '  is  as  a 
signet  of  carbuncle  set  in  gold.'  In  general,  I  think,  the  custom 
has  prevailed  among  barbarous,  rather  than  cultivated  nations. 
Indeed,  Sam.  Johnson  says  the  Greeks  were  barbarians." 

"  The  Greek  mind,"  said  Rolle,  "  was  essentially  encyclopedic ; 
it  craved  totality ;  its  perpetual  strife  was  to  embrace  all ;  it 
mistook  universality  for  perfection,  and  sought  not  the  all-com 
plete  so  much  as  the  naught-defective.  This  glorious  error  led 
them  to  paint  their  temples,  to  color  their  statues,  to  dance  as 
well  as  sing  their  odes,  and  to  bring  musicians  into  the  dining- 
room.  They  desiderated  all  that  the  genius  could  do  in  creation, 
rather  than  all  that  the  taste  would  admire  in  contemplation ; 
and  in  pursuit  of  the  might  be  sometimes  missed  the  ought  to 


272  FRAGMEXTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [^ETAT.  20. 

be, — not  always  acting  on  that  fine  critical  principle  of  '  Jack 
Birkenhead's,'  which  Bishop  Sprat  has  preserved,  'that  a  great 
wit's  great  work  is  to  refuse.'  The  modern  capacity  may  have 
contracted,  but  certain  it  is  that  no  man,  as  men  now  are,  can 
fully  taste  one  kind  of  pleasure  while  another  is  at  hand  to  dis 
tract  the  perception.  Architecture  is  the  beauty  of  form ;  if 
coloring  is  superadded,  it  will  defeat  the  impression  of  the  former 
just  in  proportion  to  its  excellence.  When  you  are  conversing 
and  I  am  eating,  two  high  delights  are  presented  at  once,  and 
one  injures  the  enjoyment  of  the  other.  Conscious  that  I  must 
lose  something,  that  loss  fills  me  with  regret,  and  that  regret 
unfits  me  for  eliciting  gratification.  Besides,  you  forget,  most 
eloquent  Wilkins,  that,  as  eating  is  in  good  part  a  mental  enjoy 
ment,  listening  to  you  more  directly  conflicts  with  a  diner's  duty, 
by  withdrawing  the  necessary  instruments  of  his  profession. 
The  philosopher  should  imitate  the  bee,  which  sucks  honey  from 
the  dust  as  well  as  from  the  flower;  from  the  Pythagorean 
school,  then,  though  we  ought  not  to  learn  to  confine  our  food 
to  beans,  we  ought  at  least  to  learn  silence.  What  opinion,  Dr. 
Gauden,  does  your  classical  mind  form  upon  the  subject  ?  Is 
conversation  an  advantage  in  dining,  or  not  ?" 

"  Why,  I  think  of  it,  what  Cicero  has  said  of  eloquence  in  a 
philosopher,"  replied  the  other:  "'Si  afferatur,  non  repudi- 
anda;  si  absit,  non  magnopere  desideranda.'  But  the  same 
Cicero  says  somewhere,  that  the  Roman  feasts  were  called  con 
vivial  banquets,  because  the  conversation  and  society  constituted 
their  chief  pleasure,  and  that  the  Greeks  gave  the  ceremony  only 
such  names  as  contemplated  eating  and  drinking." 

"  Did  they  ?"  said  Rolle.  "  Sage  dogs  !  I'll  forgive  them  the 
music.  Ay  I  they  were  right ;  the  knife  talking  with  the  meat 
is  conversation  enough,  and  there  is  no  society  like  the  society 
of  the  viands.  Your  Greek,  after  all,  is  your  only  true  philoso 
pher  :  honor  and  long  life  to  the  Greeks  I  They  called  dinner 
by  a  word  which  signifies  'the  best !'  Judicious  philologists  !" 

"Still  it  must  be  confessed,"  said  Dr.  Gauden,  "that  the 
Romans  sometimes  did  these  things  very  handsomely.  They 
rarely  gave  a  shabby  dinner.  It  showed  that  there  was  a  very 


.  20.]  ROMAN  DINNERS.  273 

just  appreciation  of  the  case,  when  a  single  mullet  sold  for 
$250,  and  another  for  $320,  and  fish-ponds  like  those  of  Hirtius 
and  Lucullus  commanded  $160,000." 

"  The  ancients,"  said  Rolle,  "  sought  to  render  eating  more  of 
a  mental  delight  than  we  can  afford  to  do,  and  introduced  refine 
ments  unknown  to  us.  They  served  at  their  table  viands  whose 
chief  delicacy  lay  in  their  intellectual  elegance  and  poetical 
beauty.  A  dinner  given  by  Yitellius  to  his  brother,  had,  says 
Suetonius,  portions  of  seven  thousand  most  choice  birds  in  one 
dish,  and  of  two  thousand  equally  choice  fishes  in  another. 
There  stood  in  the  centre  a  dish,  called,  from  its  enormous  size, 
Minerva's  buckler ;  and  of  what  composed,  think  ye  ?  Of  the 
livers  of  scari,  the  brains  of  pheasants  and  peacocks,  the  tongues 
of  parrots,  and  the  bellies  of  lamprey  eels,  brought  from  Carpa- 
thia  and  the  remotest  parts  of  Spain  in  ships  of  war  sent  out  ex 
pressly  for  the  purpose.  Claudian  and  Statius  inveigh  against 
this  extravagance  ;  but  their  wisdom  had  shown  itself  more  rich, 
if,  when  the  feast  was  set  before  them,  they  had,  like  Jacques, 
given  Heaven  thanks  and  made  no  boast  of  it ;  but  these  poets 
are  raffish  fellows.  I  know  nothing  more  ridiculous  than  the 
sight  of  little  fat-paunched  Flaccus  condemning  the  pleasures  of 
the  table,  and  exhorting  to  temperance  and  philosophic  sobriety. 
Another  dyspeptic  satirist  of  the  times  slanders  the  emperor,  be 
cause  he  assembled  the  senate  to  discuss  the  best  manner  of 
boiling  a  turbot ;  and  what  more  important  business  could  they 
have  had,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  It  would  be  as  well  if  the 
topics  of  senatorial  debate  were  always  as  honorable,  or  the 
counsel  of  senators  always  as  useful.  But  satire  is  a  low-born 
trade,  and  the  professors  of  it  are  base-minded  growlers ;  they 
go  about  snuffing,  smelling,  and  whining  in  every  direction,  and 
wherever  they  find  an  open  door,  puppy-like,  in  they  go.  Ju 
venal  was  very  little  of  a  gentleman.  How  different  was  Yirgil  1 
the  most  thorough-bred  man  of  antiquity !  His  mind  and 
thoughts  had  a  pearly  purity  and  refinement ;  in  our  days  he 
would  have  been  a  parish  priest,  and  have  died  of  bronchitis." 

"Aristotle,"  said  Dr.  Gauden,  "wrote  a  code  of  laws  for  the 
table,  and  it  is  recorded  that  he  was  particularly  fond  of  fish. 


274  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [yETAT.  20. 

The  most  remarkable  glutton  of  Greece  appears  to  have  been 
Philoxenus  of  Cythera,  who  never  dined  out  without  carrying 
his  own  castors,  and  being  attended  by  several  of  his  own  pages 
to  wait  upon  him.  He  prayed  for  the  neck  of  a  crane  that  he 
might  prolong  the  sensation  of  taste.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that 
Pluto  has  changed  him  into  a  boa-constrictor." 

"  I  will  venture  to  say,"  said  Rolle,  "  that  there  has  never  been 
a  man  of  genius  who  has  not  been  a  lover  of  good  eating ;  na 
turally,  I  mean ;  for  many  have  been  abstinent  from  piety  or 
principle,  as  Ximenes  and  Warburton.  Look  with  what  gust 
old  Homer  describes  the  carousals  of  his  gods.  Duly  as  the  day, 
they  met  in  council ;  and  after  squabbling  all  the  morning,  they 
all  trot  off  together  down  to  Jupiter's  brazen-floored  palace  to 
eat  and  drink,  which  was  probably  the  only  point  on  which  they 
ever  cordially  agreed.  Scott,  too,  has  scarcely  a  novel  without 
a  good  trencher-man  in  it ;  and  they  are  dealt  with  so  conside 
rately  ;  there  is  such  a  pleasant  humorousness  thrown  over  the 
exploits  of  Athelstan  and  Dalgetty,  that  you  see  very  plainly  it 
was  a  'fellow-feeling'  made  him  so  'wondrous  kind.'  Whenever 
his  heroes  stop  for  the  night,  the  first  thing  that  concerns  him  is 
to  feed  them." 

"  Another  maxim  may  be  safely  laid  down,"  said  Mr.  Bcnton, 
"  that  it  requires  a  certain  degree  of  virtue  to  dine  well, — at  least, 
that  bad  men  are  never  devoted  to  the  table.  I  hold  La  Fon 
taine's  principle,  '  that  to  get  along  well  in  the  world,  one  must 
have  a  good  stomach  and  a  bad  heart,'  to  be  a  contradiction  in 
itself;  the  two  things  are  inconsistent.  A  bad  heart  implies  a 
callousness  of  susceptibility  of  all  sorts,  and  that  is  destructive 
of  pleasure  from  eating.  Johnson,  who  was  the  relentless  enemy 
of  cant,  set  this  matter  on  a  just  footing ;  '  some  people,'  said  he, 
'  profess  not  to  care  for  their  stomachs  :  for  my  part,  I  attend 
particularly  to  mine ;  and  look  upon  it  that  the  man  who  does 
not  care  for  his  stomach,  will  not  care  for  matters  more  impor 
tant.'  That  noble  thinker  had  a  mind  great  enough  to  perceive 
the  value  of  little  things.  Ca3sar  showed  his  sagacity  when  he 
chose  to  have  fat  and  sleek  men  about  him,  and  distrusted  lean 
ones.  The  master-passions  of  ambition  .and  hate  swallow  up  all 


.  20.]  GRECIAN  DINNERS.  275 

minor  likings.  Some  one  offered  Wilkcs  a  pinch  of  snuff ; '  Thank 
you  !'  said  the  radical.  'I  have  no  small  vices.'  It  was  taken 
notice  of  at  Rome,  that  those  who  neglected  regularity  of  at 
tendance  at  the  dinner-party  hour  (six  o'clock  in  that  city)  were 
loose  in  their  general  conduct,  and  profligate  in  all  their  man 
ners.  Plutarch  tells  a  story  of  one  Polycharmus  who,  when  ac 
cused  of  various  vices,  solemnly  appealed  to  the  people  to  know 
whether  he  had  ever  violated  the  rules  of  the  table,  or  been  defi 
cient  in  the  devotion  that  was  due  to  a  supper.  The  sage  Athe 
nians  perceived  in  this  so  just  a  sense  of  propriety,  and  such  an 
habitual  rectitude  of  principle,  that  they  acquitted  the  fellow  by 
acclamation." 

"Yet  there  are  some  instances  on  record,"  said .  "Wilkins, 
"  which  show  that  deep  depravity  may  be  united  with  a  fine 
Apician  taste.  A  gentleman  who  had  a  plum  tree,  on  which 
two  plums  were  just  perfectly  ripe,  invited  Darteneuf,  the  great 
epicure  of  the  last  century,  half  of  whose  name  lives  immortal  in 
the  verse  of  Pope,  to  dine  with  him,  intending  that  each  of  them 
should,  after  the  dessert,  pluck  one  of  the  plums  from  the  tree, 
that  they  might  not  be  injured  by  being  carried  to  the  parlor. 
Darteneuf,  as  the  dinner  was  waxing  to  a  close,  begged  to  be 
excused  for  a  moment,  left  the  room,  went  secretly  into  the  gar 
den,  and  plucked  and  ate  both  the  plums  !  A  baser  act  of  vil- 
lany,  a  darker,  or  more  remorseless  want  of  feeling,  was  never 
exhibited.  The  man  who  could  do  such  an  act,  would  fatten 
his  mushrooms  with  the  blood  of  his  brother." 

"  Yet,  my  good .  Wilkins,  the  story  is  bipennis,  and  points 
both  ways,"  said  Rolle;. ,-  "The  man  who  invited  any  one  to 
share  such  a  Pomonean  banquet  must  have  had  a  heart  to  which 
Howard's  was  Pharaohic."  : 

"  The  circumstance  that  men  dine  in  company  and  not  alone,'.' 
said  Mr.  Benton,  "is  proof  of  the  moral  excellence  of  the  occu 
pation  ;  for  the  virtues  are  all  social ;  the  vices  all  solitary." 

"To  settle  the  precise  number,"  said  Rolle,  "at  which  the 
pleasures  of  eating  and  of  enjoying  society,  are  in  aptest  pro>- 
portion,  and  neither  predominates  unduly,  has  always  been  a 
difficult  problem  in  epicureanism.  Our  companies  are  generally 


276  FRAGMENTAL   LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [^TAT.  20. 

too  large.  Among  tlie  Greeks  and  Romans,  the  usual  orthodox 
number  was  between  four  and  eleven.  Ausonius  says  seven  is 
the  best,  including  the  master :  if  there  be  more,  he  remarks, 
punningly,  it  ceases  to  be  convwium  and  becomes  convicium. 
A  supper  of  Augustus  to  twelve  was  so  unusual  as  to  have  been 
deemed  worthy  of  commemoration." 

"  Yarro,"  remarked  Dr.  Gauden,  "  seems  to  have  been  the  first 
who  gave  the  rule  of  not  more  than  the  muses,  nor  less  than  the 
graces." 

"Cardinal  De  Retz  declares,"  said  Wilkins,  "that  whenever 
a  company  amounts  to  one  hundred,  it  is  a  mob,  and  few  men 
have  had  more  acquaintance  with  mobs,  or  have  written  their 
natural  history  better,  than  Cardinal  De  Retz.  But  this  limit, 
if  the  true  one,  applies  only  to  politics  ;  for  the  standard  varies 
with  the  intention  and  purpose  of  the  assembly,  and  a  far  smaller 
number  constitutes  a  literary  mob  than  is  required  for  a  political 
one.  I  take  this  to  be  the  just  criterion  in  the  case  ;  that  when 
ever  the  spirit  of  individuality  passes  out  of  the  persons  assem 
bled,  and  some  aggregate  spirit,  whether  patriotic,  destructive 
or  panic ;  whether  the  genius  loci,  or  the  afflatus  of  occasion 
enters  into  them ;  whenever  private  sympathy  ceases  and  col 
lective  impression  begins,  so  that  men  are  influenced  not  per- 
sonatim,  but  gregatim,  not  by  peculiar,  but  by  general  appeals ; 
whenever,  in  public  companies,  men  harangue  and  not  debate, 
and  in  private  ones,  discourse  and  not  converse  ;  in  a  word,  when 
ever  externality  prevails  over  personality ;  at  that  point  the 
assembly  becomes  a  mob  according  to  its  kind  and  sort.  As 
every  gentleman  has  a  hatred  of  mobs,  this  consideration,  rather 
than  any  numeral  principle,  should  regulate  the  amount  of  the 
persons  he  calls  together  to  dine.  I  should  consider  twelve  edu 
cated  and  spirited  men  at  a  dinner-table  a  decided  mob  ;  while 
to  make  a  rebellious  mob  in  a  garrisoned  city  several  hundreds 
might  be  requisite ;  such  a  number  at  all  events  as  would  allow 
collective  enthusiasm  to  master  personal  fear.  Under  the  em 
pire  three  was  pronounced  a  mob  ;  which  may  be  vindicated  on 
Tertullian's  authority, '  Ubi  ires,  Ecclesia  est. '  I  think  it  will  bear 
an  argument  whether  a  single  individual  may  not  in  some  cir- 


20.]  REQUISITE   NUMBER.  277 

cumstances  be  a  mob ;  I  should  be  strongly  inclined  to  maintain 
that  George  Sandt  when  he  murdered  Kotzebue,  the  man  who 
mutilated  Andre's  tomb  in  Westminster  Abbey,  and  most  of  the 
assailants  of  royal  personages,  are  not  to  be  considered  as  indi 
viduals,  but  as  mobs  sole." 

"  Shall  I  have  the  honor  of  wine  with  you,  Sir,"  said  the 
Count  de  Bieune  to  me,  who,  seated  beside  me,  had  been  eating 
very  quietly  most  of  this  time,  and  appeared  disposed,  for  at 
least  the  first  three  or  four  courses,  to  be  a  "  hearer"  rather  than 
"  a  doer  of  the  word." — "  With  great  pleasure  on  my  part,"  replied 
I ;  "and  if  you  will  allow  me  to  propose  a  toast,  it  shall  be  in  a 
goblet  of  Johannisberg — Mr.  Benton's  is  a  gift  from  the  Prince 
— to  the  honor  of  your  old  friend  Prince  Metternich."  "With 
all  my  heart,"  said  the  Count ;  and  so  poured  forth  a  goblet  to  the 
brim.  "  It  is  remarkable,"  said  he, — apparently  first  inspired  by 
his  draught — "  that  the  Teutonic  nations  alone,  of  all  the  people 
of  the  world,  are  capable  of  enjoying — in  that  supreme  felicity 
which  to  us  it  seems  so  naturally  and  so  worthily  to  inspire — 
the  delights  of  a  dinner  or  a  supper.  All  that  Dr.  Gauden  has 
said  about  the  Greek  and  Roman  names  and  dinners  is  true 
enough ;  but  the  Gothic  nations  alone  of  all  the  races  of  man 
kind  are  capable  of  rising  to  the  just  and  earnest  worship  of  the 
god  of  wine.  No  doubt  the  Greek  could  sip  his  mild  Chian 
pleasantly,  as,  with  his  brows  rose-wreathed  and  languid,  he  re 
posed  in  the  arms  of  his  mistress ;  and  the  Roman  could  temper 
with  his  dark  Falernian  the  ardors  of  politics,  or  mellow  the  dry- 
ness  of  philosophy,  with  his  strong-bodied  Massic  ;  but  the  'sub 
lime  energy  of  conviviality,'  the  deep  and  soul-enkindling  quaf- 
fings  of  the  cup,  belong  only  to  the  blood  of  the  Northmen. 
Wherever  the  Latin  race  has  mingled  itself  with  the  Gothic,  the 
same  inferiority  has  attached  itself.  The  Italians  and  Spanish 
are  dead  to  the  enchantment  of  the  grape,  and  the  French  Bac 
chic  poetry  sounds  like  a  shout  whistled  through  a  straw.  In 
all  these  cases,  wine  is  extolled  as  an  accessory  to  love  or  con 
versation  ;  the  wild  abandon  of  bacchanality — the  adoration  of 
the  goblet  for  the  wine — of  the  wine  for  the  god  of  wine — is  denied 
to  all  but  the  native  of  the  forest.  All  the  southern  festive 
24 


218  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [^ET 

chants  are  more  or  less  erotic;  the  true  drinking  song  is 
essentially  and  exclusively  northern.  Is  not  this  true,  Dr. 
Gauden  ?» 

"  Distinctions  of  that  kind,  I  imagine,"  replied  the  Doctor, 
"  run  through  the  whole  moral  and  intellectual  character  of  the 
two  races,  and  may  be  detected  in  most  of  their  monuments." 

"They  are,  no  doubt,  discoverable,"  continued  the  Count,  "in 
their  architecture  and  religion — two  things  which  a  nation  rarely 
borrows,  and  never  without  modification.  The  Greek  and  Latin 
mind  was  fond  of  the  definite,  the  sensuous,  and  the  precise ;  it 
held  to  the  apparent  and  the  known  ;  it  rested  in  the  external. 
The  Gothic  spirit,  nurtured  in  uncoped  forests,  and  cradled  amid 
shadows  and  concealment,  longed  always  for  the  vast,  the  un 
defined  and  incomprehensive ;  it  craved  communion  with  the 
spiritual  and  unseen ;  it  sought  ever  the  inward  and  mysterious. 
The  Greek  temple,  accordingly,  is  regular  and  complete  ;  it  ex 
presses  the  whole  idea  which  it  contains  ;  the  Gothic  cathedral  is 
aspiring,  unrestricted,  and  indistinct.  In  one,  the  effects  of  form 
are  studied  ;  in  the  other,  the  impression  of  spirit  predominates  ; 
the  one  is  the  complacent  shaping  of  a  learned  artist ;  the  other, 
the  dark  utterance  of  a  poet,  restless  with  the  movings  of  an  im 
mortal  soul,  and  charged  with  the  uneasy  inspiration  of  unde 
veloped  life.  In  the  creed  of  the  people,  the  same  thing  appears. 
The  gods  of  the  Greeks  had  finite  forms ;  their  genealogy  was 
known,  their  character  and  functions  were  all  settled.  The  god 
of  the  Goths  was  an  infinite  spirit,  inconceivable  in  origin,  un 
fathomable  in  nature.  The  Christian  religion,  a  religion  of  mys 
teries,  was  preached  to  the  Greeks,  and  was  rejected  by  them  ;  it 
was  planted  painfully  and  slowly  among  the  Romans ;  it  spread 
like  the  unchained  wind  among  the  Goths,  and  never  became 
national  but  among  them.  Do  we  not  see  in  this  the  ineffaceable 
distinctions  of  race  ?  The  southern  nations  at  once  materialized 
their  religion  ;  first  by  the  erection  of  a  human  representative  and 
vicegerent  of  God  ;  afterwards,  by  image-worship,  saint-worship, 
and  the  prominent  adoration  of  the  human  mother  of  God ;  and 
among  them  the  reformation  has  never  prevailed.  The  north  in 
the  palmiest  hour  of  Popery  was  always  Protestant,  that  is,  imma- 


2ETAT.  20.]  REQUISITE   NUMBER.  279 

terial,  in  feeling  and  doctrine,  however  Catholic  it  may  have  been 
in  government ;  the  trumpet  of  Luther  was  a  blast  of  the  forest, 
and  its  echo  died  away  there.  The  antagonist  characteristics 
of  society  in  the  east  and  the  west  are  also  developed  in  the  his 
tory  of  religion.  The  Goths  were  domestic,  and  Christianity,  a 
religion  of  peace  and  union,  was  adapted  to  them.  The  Arabs, 
the  Saracens,  and  adjoining  nations,  were  lawless,  wild,  and 
haughty,  and  the  proud  and  fierce  religion  of  the  crescent  suited 
them.  In  those  eastern  lands  in  which  the  cross  had  been  esta 
blished,  it  was  wholly  and  permanently  subverted  by  the  Maho 
metans  ;  and  that  defeat  has  been  the  marvel  of  the  pious,  who 
have  not  considered  that  a  social  religion  must  necessarily  yield 
to  an  anti-social  one,  among  an  anti-social  people." 

"  Those  natural  differences  have  not  been  so  much  studied  as 
they  ought  to  be,"  said  I.  "They  might  be  of  infinite  value  to 
the  statesman." 

"The  appreciation  of  them,"  replied  the  Count,  "is  the  foun 
dation  of  politics,  and  the  failure  of  every  political  scheme  may 
be  attributed  to  the  neglect  of  them.  One  nation  is  distinguished 
from  another  of  the  -same  origin  by  variations  similar  to  those 
which  divide  one  race  from  another.  The  love  of  popular  pri 
vilege  which  belongs  to  the  extreme  west,  takes,  in  France,  the 
form  of  love  of  equality ;  in  England,  of  liberty ;  in  America, 
of  both  liberty  and  equality.  Smaller  differences,  I  presume,  run 
down  through  every  district,  shire  and  town  in  each  nation. 
But  the  grand  distinction  in  European  nations  is  that  of  north 
and  south,  and  in  every  reform  must  be  kept  in  sight.  The 
south  must  be  regenerated  on  the  plan  of  France  under  Napo 
leon  :  one  member  supreme,  all  under  it,  equal.  The  north  must 
be  revived  on  the  model  of  England,  by  a  pyramidal  system  of 
descending  classes,  distinct  but  united,  like  the  orders  in  a  Pal- 
ladian  palace,  and  each  having  privileges  in  inverse  proportion  to 
the  number  which  constitutes  the  class.  For  this  distinction  is 
to  be  taken,  that  though  the  south  accepted  the  form  of  feudality, 
the  north  only,  that  is,  England  and  Germany,  was  imbued  with 
its  spirit.  And  the  principle  of  the  feudal  system  was  personal 
freedom  and  social  connection — the  independence  of  the  indi- 


280  JTKAGMENTAL  LITERACY  DISQUISITIONS.    [^!TAT.  20. 

vidual,  and  the  subordination  of  the  rank.  The  baron  was  the 
subject  of  the  king,  but  his  castle  was  his  throne ;  the  peasant 
was  the  subject  of  the  baron,  but  his  cottage  was  his  sanctuary. 
These  dependencies  were  easily  maintained  in  war,  for  they  were 
its  support.  The  danger  was  that  they  would  decline  in  peace ; 
they  were  only  to  be  preserved  in  peace  by  the  appointment  of 
civil  institutions  which  should  be  germane  to  the  feudal  spirit. 
This,  in  England,  was  done  by  the  fiction  of  land  tenures,  which 
led  to  courts,  baron  and  leet,  and  by  the  trial  by  jury,  which  is 
the  Maxima  Charta  of  British  liberty.  The  English  did  not 
want  equality,  but  independence  ;  and  the  rights  of'  the  people 
among  them,  though  rights  of  inferiority,  were  equally  definite 
with  those  of  the  nobility,  and  for  purposes  of  distinction  equally 
valuable.  If  Germany  is  ever  raised  up,  it  must  be  by  establish 
ing  a  pacific  system  cognate  with  the  feudal ;  it  must  be  by  fol 
lowing  the  English  plan,  modulated,  of  course,  from  its  present 
development ;  the  chord  must  be  the  same,  but  the  key  lower." 

"Your  remark  is  striking  and,  I  have  no  doubt,  just,"  replied 
Dr.  Gaudcn. 

"It  is,  I  suspect,"  continued  the  Count,  "from  the  want  of 
fit  civil  institutions  that  the  feudal  relations  of  emperor,  baron, 
and  peasant,  have  got,  among  us  Germans,  so  hopelessly  en 
tangled.  The  encroachments  of  the  emperor  have  broken  the 
mesne  sovereignties,  and  the  peasantry  suffers  in  consequence. 
Many  of  the  German  nobility  have  inherited  from  their  ances 
tors  the  obligations  of  princes,  and  from  their  fathers  the  powers 
of  but  private  gentlemen.  It  will  be  a  long  task  to  restore  the 
balance." 

"Benton,"  said  Kolle,  who  had  not  probably  heard  a  word  of 
this  long  discourse  between  his  neighbors,  "  Benton,  why  do  you 
suffer  your  cook  to  put  mustard  in  the  macaroni  ?  Cooked  mus 
tard  is  horrible." 

"  Why,"  replied  the  other,  "  my  cook  has  a  great  many  sorts 
of  ability,  and  among  the  rest  a  good  deal  of  irritability ;  and  if 
I  were  to  act  upon  the  democratic  maxim  and  assume  the  '  right 
of  instruction,'  I  fear  he  would  not  'obey,'  but  'resign.'  But 


.  20.]  AGE   OF    A    COOK.  281 

there  is  so  little  of  the  obnoxious  article,  that  I  am  surprised 
that  you  perceive  it." 

"  Perceive  it  ?  If  it  were  inserted  in  Homoeopathic  doses  I 
should  perceive  it.  But  why  don't  you  turn  such  a  man  out  of 
the  house  ?  I  wouldn't  retain  such  a  man  in  my  service  a  mo 
ment.  How  old  is  he  ?" 

"Thirty-two." 

"  Too  young,  too  young.  His  aspirations  are  yet  too  tumul 
tuous,  and  his  energies  too  undisciplined.  He  cannot  have 
attained  that  splendid  repose  of  passion  amid  the  ardor  of  vigor 
ous  power,  which  is  demanded  by  nature  for  the  ruling  of  an 
empire  and  the  cooking  of  a  dinner." 

"  Tide  fixes  at  thirty  the  period  of  life  at  which  a  man  may  be 
pronounced  a  perfect  cook.  That  seems  to  be  the  climacteric 
of  the  intellect." 

"  Sir,  you  are  to  take  a  distinction.  There  are  two  climacter 
ics  of  the  intellect,  one  between  twenty-six  and  thirty,  the  other 
at  forty  ;  the  period  of  the  first  is  the  zenith  of  energy ;  the  second, 
of  ability.  For  any  enterprise  requiring  hardy  zeal  and  intre 
pidity  ;  for  the  resolute  execution  of  a  daring  project ;  for  all 
that  demands  nerve  and  force ;  the  powers  of  man  are  in  their 
perfection  at  about  twenty-seven  or  nine.  Alexander,  Charles 
the  Twelfth,  and  Lord  Byron,  who  wrote  his  poems  in  the  same 
spirit  that  the  others  fought  their  battles,  performed  at  this  age 
their  finest  achievements,  and  all  of  them  coincided  in  dying  at 
thirty-six.  Shakspeare,  the  all-knowing,  has  observed  this  psy 
chological  truth  :  lago  tells  us  when  he  commences  his  diabolics, 
'  I  have  looked  upon  the  world  for  four  times  seven  years.'  On 
the  other  hand,  no  man  can  be  prepared  for  the  performance  of 
a  truly  great  and  elevated  work ;  one  enacting  the  full  develop 
ment  and  .exercised  freedom  of  every  mental  faculty,  and  the 
long-trained  and  dependible  strength  of  every  power,  before  the 
age  of  forty.  At  that  age  Wieland  fixed  the  time  when  a  man 
is  best  fitted  for  a  high  literary  work,  and  sat  down  to  the  com 
position  of  Oberon.  At  that  age,  which  Dryden  calls  '  the  full 
summer  tropic  of  his  genius,'  Yirgil  wrote  his  best  work.  After 
that  age  Burgh,  who  had  surveyed  mankind  with  accuracy,  for- 
24* 


282  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [^ETAT.  20. 

bade  any  one  to  enter  on  any  new  undertaking,  perceiving  that 
that  was  the  era  of  execution,  not  enterprise.  I  should  there 
fore  conclude  that  while  an  artiste  of  thirty-two  is  admirably 
fitted  for  grand  and  gigantic  experiments  in  his  profession,  he  is 
yet  unsuited  for  that  last  and  noblest  effort  of  human  genius ; 
that  loftiest  exhibition  of  serene  might ;  that  most  worthy  task 
of  Olympian  powers  :  the  cooking  of  a  dinner." 

"  We  are  told  in  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  that  Moses  was 
fall  forty  years  old  when  he  began  his  mission ;  Mahomet  was 
thirty-nine.  Forty,  also,  was  the  consular  age  among  the  Ro 
mans." 

Leaving  this  conversation  to  proceed  as  it  pleased,  I  turned 
to  Dr.  Gauden,  who  was  sitting  on  the  other  side  of  me,  and 
after  our  political  disquisiton  with  the  Count,  had  fallen  into  a 
kind  of  revery.  There  was  a  fine  landscape  by  Gainsborough 
hanging  on  the  opposite  wall,  in  front  of  him,  at  which  he  was 
looking  intently,  and  muttering  to  himself  some  verses  of  Fla- 
minius,  with  the  usual  intermixture  of  fretful  nods. 

"  Umbra)  frigiduloe  !  arborum  susurri ! 
Antra  roscida  !  discolore  picta 
Tellus  gramme  !   fontium  loquaces 
Lyinphae  !  garrula  aves !  arnica  Musis 
Otia  ! — 0  mihi  si  volare  vestrum 
In  sinum  superi  annuant  benigni ! 

That  must  be  when  I  come  back." 

"  It  is  to  be  regretted,  I  think,  Doctor,"  said  I,  falling  in  with 
the  current  of  his  thoughts,  "  that  the  Latin  writings  of  the  Italian 
scholars  who  clustered  about  the  morning  light  of  modern  letters, 
are  not  more  known  and  studied  than  they  are.  There  is  some 
exquisite  poetry  among  them." 

"  Beautiful,  sir,  beautiful.  In  descriptions  of  nature  they  are 
unrivalled.  The  history  of  the  literature  which  Le  Clerc  happily 
calls  demi-ancient,  remains  to  be  written.  Roscoe's  books  are 
beneath  contempt." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  for  I  have  always  held  the 
opinion  that  they  were  infinitely  overrated.  I  never  could  get 
through  them  :  they  would  not  take  hold  of  me." 


£!TAT.  20.]  POLITIAN— JOHNSON.  283 

"His  popularity,"  replied  the  Doctor,  "illustrates  a  remark 
of  Horace  Walpole  :  that  grace  will  save  any  book,  and  without 
it  none  can  live  long.  The  gracefulness  of  his  style  and  the  ele 
gance  of  his  manner  have  given  him  an  acceptance  with  'the 
general,'  who  hate  to  think  and  are  careless  of  knowing.  But 
he  is  always  superficial  and  often  mistaken ;  he  says  more  in  a 
sentence  than  he  could  stand  by  in  a  volume.  He  sketches,  but 
does  not  portray,  and  guesses  where  he  ought  to  investigate  ;  'il 
effleure  lorsquHl  devrait  percer. '  His  taste  was  delicate  rather 
than  just :  and  his  mind,  though  polished,  was  feeble  and  one 
sided.  He  could  argue  agreeably,  but  could  not  judge  accurately. 
He  lacked  that  strong  grasp  of  mind,  that  stern  watchfulness 
against  prejudice,  and  that  self-denying  disinterestedness  of  senti 
ment,  which  are  essential  in  exploring  the  mines  of  history." 

"Among  the  many  services,"  said  I,  "which  Pope  rendered 
to  literature,  his  edition  of  some  of  these  poets  should  not  be 
forgotten ;  if  it  showed  no  learning,  it  proved  at  least  his  taste, 
and  his  interest  in  letters.  I  have  sometimes  regretted  that 
Johnson  did  not  prosecute  his  intention  of  editing  Politian." 

"  No  doubt  he  would  have  done  it  well ;  he  edited  Browne's 
'  Morals'  with  consummate  ability.  But  to  tell  you  the  truth, 
Politian  is  no  favorite  of  mine.  His  prose  is  certainly  elabo 
rately  classical ;  but  his  poetry  is  irreclaimably  dull.  His  per 
sonal  character  is  anything  but  agreeable  ;  he  was  intensely  and 
meanly  selfish  ;  always  cringing  and  begging.  He  was  insatiable 
of  favors  and  never  seems  to  have  had  the  least  gratitude  for 
them.  The  wife  of  Lorenzo,  you  know,  turned  him  out  of  the 
house.  It  is  odd  that  Mrs.  Parr  did  the  same  thing  to  that 
splendid  brute,  Person.  I  should  have  been  glad  if  Johnson 
had  edited  Petrarch,  or  Yida,  or  had  written  a  history  of  that 
age.  That  is  a  work  which  is  yet  to  be  done  ;  the  men  of  that 
time  are  still  doubtful  in  reputation ;  posterity  has  formed  no 
definite  conclusion  about  them.  Such  a  man  would  have  settled 
opinion  once  and  forever.  Let  theorists  sneer  as  they  may,  there 
is  not  a  critical  notion  of  Johnson's  which  the  nation  has  not 
accepted.  Brydges  and  Bowles  have  written  their  volumes,  and 
Coleridge  has  lectured  his  worst,  exhausting  logic  and  his 


284  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.    [JEtAT.  20. 

hearers ;  but  not  a  decision  in  '  The  Lives  of  the  Poets'  has 
been  shaken :  that  book  stands  in  the  history  of  literature  like 
a  rock  in  the  ocean  ;  the  waves  and  waters  of  opinion  may  beat 
around  it  and  beat  against  it,  but  it  stands,  '  and  as  it  stands, 
forever  shall  stand  on.'  " 

"  I  have  sometimes  speculated,  Doctor,  on  the  effect  which  he 
would  have  produced  on  English  literature,  if,  with  the  reputa 
tion  which  he  had  at  his  death,  he  had  lived  on  till  our  own 
times.  Modern  poetry  and  fiction  would  have  no  existence. 
Byron,  and  Wordsworth,  and  Bulwer,  would  have  been  crushed 
like  peascods.  I  suspect  that  the  whole  radical  system,  with  its 
liberty  and  utility,  would  have  been  scattered  to  the  winds ;  for 
his  actual  power  was  immense  and  his  possible  power  scarcely 
calculable.  For  cogency  of  reason  ;  for  simple  ability  to  con 
vince;  no  man  that  ever  existed  may  be  compared  with  him. 
He  was  a  wonderfully  great  man." 

"  Sir,  his  greatness  cannot  be  overstated.  Form  the  highest 
notion  that  you  can  have  of  powerful  reasoning  or  of  brilliant 
wit,  and  then  turn  to  some  of  his  political  pamphlets,  or  to  cer 
tain  conversations  which  I  could  name  in  Boswell,  and  you  will 
find  that  the  reality  excels  your  wish.  His  conversations  are  to 
my  judgment  even  more  wonderful  than  his  writings.  He  might 
have  said  of  Boswell  what  Mahomet  said  of  Ali,  '  I  am  the  city 
of  knowledge  ;  and  he  is  my  gate.'  Boswell  deserves  to  be  re 
membered,  for  his  appreciation  of  Johnson  showed  a  fine  spirit, 
and  the  meannesses  he  submitted  to,  were  the  sacrifice  of  dignity 
to  wisdom.  And  he  will  be  remembered  with  an  immortal  in 
significance,  for  he  is  like  the  beccafico  which  the  stork  takes 
upon  his  back  and  carries  to  heights  which  its  feeble  wing  could 
not  attain.  His  powers  were  undoubtedly  most  respectable ; 
for  I  take  it  to  be  the,  not  so  facile,  business  of  a  biographer, 
simply  to  give  you  a  clear  and  satisfactory  impression  of  the 
subject  of  his  book,  and  this  he  has  done ;  you  see  Johnson  as 
he  lived ;  in  the  rude  grandeur  of  his  noble  nature  :  '  Nihil  liic 
elegans  aut  venustum,  sed  ingens  et  magnificum,  et  quod  placet 
magnitudine  sua  et  quddam  specie  immensitatis,'  as  Burnet 
savs  of  a  view  from  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean." 


J3TAT.  20.1  PARR— WARBURTON.  285 

"  Johnson's  independence  or  defiance  of  the  restraints  of  re 
fined  life,"  said  I,  "though  it  exposed  him  to  cavil,  was  certainly 
of  service  to  the  freedom  of  his  mind,  for  it  enabled  him  to 
appreciate  the  world  with  stern  and  conscientious  truth.  Every 
gentleman,  even  the  most  strong-minded,  is  habitually  under  the 
influence  of  cant ;  and  when  the  judgment  is  once  resigned  to 
prescription  and  usage,  the  limits  of  the  thraldom  cannot  easily 
be  defined.  Johnson  stood  alone ;  early  a  widower, — with  no 
children  and  no  relations  near  him, — an  acknowledged  exception 
to  all  society, — he  was  free  from  the  faintest  fetter  of  custom, — 
'  Custom,  that  result  of  the  prejudices  and  passions  of  many,  and 
the  designs  of  a  few,  that  ape  of  reason,  who  usurps  her  seat, 
exercises  her  power,  and  is  obeyed  by  mankind  in  her  stead.' 
He  was  thus  enabled  to  look  down  upon  the  establishments  of 
the  world  with  an  independence  which  few  others  could  hope  to 
attain,  and  where  he  bore  testimony  to  their  value  and  justice, 
his  evidence  had  incalculable  force." 

"It  is  a  pity,"  said  Dr.  Gauden,  "that  Parr  and  others  who 
imitated  the  great  moralist,  should  have  copied  the  '  brute  part 
of  him'  so  closely.  You  see  clearly  that  Johnson's  rudeness 
was  like  the  horns  of  the  Fauns  and  Satyrs,  a  natural  excres 
cence  ;  while  Parr's,  like  those  of  Bacchus,  was  an  ornament 
which  he  could  remove.  In  his  Salmoneus'  wieldings  of  the 
thunderbolt,  he  gave  too  much  of  the  thunder  and  too  little  of 
the  bolt.  He  was  a  man  of  small  stature  ;  still,  when  he  '  sum 
moned  all  the  energies  of  his  reason,  and  put  forth  the  whole 
power  of  his  mind,'  he  could  'do  considerable.'  His  dedication 
of  the  Warburtonian's  Tracts  is  the  most  splendid  effort  of 
elaborate  malignity  that  the  world  has  ever  seon.  But  he  had 
always  the  cramped  movement  of  one  acting  a  part,  and  was  still 
farther  dwarfed  by  acting  a  part  too  high  for  him.  Johnson 
strode  with  the  step  of  a  giant ;  Parr  stalked  like  one  accoutred 
in  the  seven-leagued  boots  of  a  dwarf.  Parr  built  up  his  mind 
on  a  great  model ;  Johnson's  mind  grew  up,  and  he  swayed  it 
as  we  sway  the  limbs  of  our  body.  Parr  struggles  to  get  up  to 
his  subjectx  as  a  clumsy  swimmer  to  get  upon  the  ice ;  Johnson 
has  always  conquered  his  topics,  and  holds  them  up  with  the  air 


286  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.        [^TAT.  20. 

of  a  man  going  to  grate  a  nutmeg.  You  find,  too,  about  the 
latter,  that  natural  humor  and  honest  bonhommie  which  results 
from  the  self-composure  incident  to  a  thoroughly  great  mind.  It 
may  seem  an  odd  fancy,  but  there  is  something  in  Falstaff  which 
puts  me  in  mind  of  Johnson." 

"  Warburton  was  more  his  fellow  than  any  other  eminent  man 
of  his  country.  But  he  differed  in  many  qualities,  and  where  he 
differed,  there  he  descended." 

"  Warburton  had  logic  rather  than  reason,  and  had  more  of 
mechanical  intellect  than  moral  power ;  he  was  forcible  rather 
than  strong,  and  energetic  rather  than  robust.  He  used  the 
sling ;  Johnson,  the  mace.  Johnson  was  like  a  man  who,  walk 
ing  through  a  forest,  meets  a  lion  there  and  slays  him :  War- 
burton  was  like  one  who,  happening  to  pass  an  amphitheatre  as 
he  is  going  through  a  city  on  important  business,  throws  down 
his  bundle  in  the  street  and  steps  in  among  the  beasts,  from  pure 
love  of  a  broil :  as  much  praise  must  be  given  to  the  unosten 
tatious  manliness  of  the  one  as  to  the  gladiatorial  vehemence 
of  the  other.  A  great  mind  is  stable  by  its  very  weight ;  War- 
burton  floated  about  like  a  gossamer,. — over  men's  heads  and  in 
their  faces.  No  truly  great  mind  ever  tampered  with  error  ;  it 
has  a  strong  love  of  truth, — an  intellectual  affection,  '  qui  sjat- 
tache  au  vrai  par  une  esp&ce  de  sympathies  as  Fontenelle  says, 
'et  sente  le  faux  sans  le  discuter.'  Notwithstanding  the  high 
and  rich  delight  which  the  study  of  his  works  has  afforded 
ine, — for,  like  Lelius  in  '  The  Arcadia,'  he  showed  more  skill  in 
missing  than  others  did  in  hitting, — yet  my  own  opinion  of  him 
is  much  what  Yoltaire  has  expressed  aboilt  Charles  of  Sweden, 
'homme  unique  plutbt  que  grand  homme,  admirable  plutbt 
qu'd  imiter.'  Bentley,  I  think,  had  more  of  the  great  Cham's 
unminted  wealth  and  sinewy  vigor  than  any  of  these  men  :  but 
the  most  Johnsonian  mortal  now  alive,  and  out  of  sight  the  first 
man  that  wears  calf-skin,  is  Mr.  Webster.  What  a  towering 
monument  of  mind  is  he  !  He  may  be  termed  a  real  statesman 
according  to  the  law's  definition  of  the  realty, — 'permanent, 
fixed  and  immovable,  which  cannot  be  carried  out  of  its  place.' 
But  there  are  many  things  in  this  world  that  are  of  great  value 


.   20.]  WEBSTER.  28T 

and  no  use  ;  and  Webster  is  one  of  them.  Every  man  has  his 
fault,  and  greatness  is  his.  But  he  is  a  glorious  creature.  What 
a  pity  he  is  honest  1  Sir,  we'll  drink  his  health  I" 

"With  all  my  heart !» 

"  Mr.  Webster  undoubtedly  has  the  misfortune  of  being  too 
great  for  his  condition.  There  is  in  the  American  system  no 
niche  for  such  a  statue.  Such  a  man  must  be  often  disappointed, 
and  die  at  last  of  a  broken  heart." 

"England  has  secured  an  eternal  supremacy  for  her  great 
statesmen  over  those  of  other  nations  by  the  wise  device  of  en 
rolling  them  in  the  peerage.  Men  may  talk  as  they  will  of  the 
majesty  of  intellect  or  the  kingliness  of  character ;  there  is  no 
greatness  which  the  world  will  always  and  inevitably  acknowledge 
save  that  of  title.  The  moment  a  man  is  inscribed  in  the  quiet 
rolls  of  the  nobility,  he  assumes  in  the  instinctive  and  ineradi 
cable  admission  of  all  men,  a  superior  nature.  He  may  be  a 
parvenu  and  a  brute,  but  his  name  clothes  him,  in  the  imagina 
tion  of  all,  with  the  splendor  and  homage  of  feudal  dignity,  and 
Tudor  and  Plantagenet  float  before  our  eyes." 

"  True :  and  in  England  that  natural  fealty  always  prevails 
over  the  opposing  popularity  of  democratic  aspirants,  and 
enables  the  balance  of  contest  to  be  on  the  side  of  the  aristo 
cracy  ;  so  that  the  English  have  generally  the  satisfaction  of 
being,  at  least,  enslaved  by  a  gentleman.  Britain's  feudality  has 
saved  her  from  the  political  Fetichism  of  America,  whose  devo 
tion  only  bows  to  beasts.  It  has  also  kept  her  from  the  leaden 
tyranny  of  wealth,  which  has  here  set  up  its  altars  unopposed — 
Temples  were  the  banks  of  Greece  :  Banks  are  the  temples  of 
America." 

"  Of  England  and  America  we  must  say,  'magis  pares  quam 
similes."1  The  system  of  civility  which  prevails  in  the  two 
countries  is  different.  England  is  a  lake,  calm  and  dignified, 
shaded  by  willows  and  fringed  with  daisies.  America  is  a  river, 
that  dashes  along,  often  muddy  and  always  agitated,  rarely 
graceful  and  never  dignified,  but  in  this  wild  and  free  impetu 
osity  an  emblem  of  all  that  is  bold,  and  daring,  and  spirited  in 
man,  and  sometimes,  too,  not  failing  in  its  unfettered  energy  to 


288  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [JErAT.  20. 

work  out  a  high  and  earnest  beauty.  Our  greatness  lies  in  that 
enterprise  and  activity  of  which  we  can  give  no  vouchers  in  the 
drawing-room.  The  Englishman  walks  in  a  narrow  sphere,  and 
in  that  sphere  excels  what  his  colonist  can  do  in  any  one  of  the 
departments  in  which  he  figures.  The  American  is  a  flambeau 
that  stinks  in  a  drawing-room,  but  burns  admirably  on  the  race- 
ground:  the  Englishman  is  a  wax-candle,  elegantly  bright  in 
its  station,  but  which,  if  moved  out  of  its  place,  flares  des 
perately." 

"  Byron,  in  Manfred,  has  sketched  the  bitter  degradation  to 
which  a  noble  mind  like  Webster  must  submit,  that  would  mingle 
in  the  strife  ofrpublic  life." 

"  Byron  doubtless  described  what  his  own  brief  experiences  in 
parliament  had  taught  him.  He  seems  to  have  been  ambitious 
to  bear  a  part  in  the  politics  of  his  country,  and  I  suspect  that 
to  his  failure  in  that  enterprise  is  to  be  attributed  much  of  the 
bitter  hate  and  defiance  which  has  been  popularly  attributed  to 
domestic  misfortunes.  That  his  nature  sympathized  with  the 
daring  in  action  rather  than  the  tender  in  sentiment,  is  manifest 
from  his  Alp,  his  Corsair,  and  indeed  the  whole  circle  of  his 
heroes.  There  was  rankling  in  his  bosom  some  great  and  inde 
pendent  irritation  ; — the  stings  of  an  ambition  which  the  honors 
of  poetry  could  not  gratify.  His  expedition  to  Greece  is  indi 
cation  of  the  same  thing.  But  his  character  is,  and  will  remain, 
a  riddle.  Dark  and  demoniac  as  were  some  of  his  qualities,  he 
had  many  traits  of  a  noble  nature.  His  spirit  was  like  the  form 
of  Eblis,  in  Beckford's  marvellous  creation  ;  '  sa  figure  etait  celle 
d'unjeune  homme,  dont  les  traits  nobles  et  reguliers,  semblaient 
avoir  cte  flctris  par  des  vapeurs  malignes.  Le  desespoir  et 
Vorgeuil  etaient  peints  dans  ses  grands  yeux,  et  sa  chevelure 
ondoyante  tenait  encore  un  pen  de  celle  d>un  ange  de  lumiere  ; 
.  .  .  une  mam  delicate,  mais  noircie  par  la  foudre,  .  .  .  une 
voix  plux  douce  qu'on  aurait  pu  la  supposer,  mais  qui  portait 
la  noire  melancolie  dans  Vame."1  Yirtue  and  vice  contended 
for  his  soul,  as  Michael  and  Satan  for  the  body  of  Moses." 

"  Byron's  poetry  was  never  to  my  taste.  He  and  his  set  are 
a  kind  of  poetical  Brahmins,  teaching  universal  hatred  and  con- 


.  20.]  BYRON.  289 

tempt  towards  all  their  fellow-creatures,  and  nourishing  in 
themselves,  as  a  religious  duty,  pride,  selfishness  and  all  un- 
charitableness.  The  'impar  sibij  is  a  charge  which  lies  not 
against  him,  for  his  morals  were  as  bad  as  his  manners.  I  do 
not  deny  his  talents,  but  I  have  no  sympathy  with  his  subjects. 
'He  that  striketh  an  instrument  with  skill,'  says  Hooker,  'may 
cause,  notwithstanding,  a  very  unpleasant  sound,  if  the  string 
whereon  he  striketh  chance  to  be  incapable  of  harmony.'  As 
long  as  Spenser  and  Dryden  survive  I  shall  have  little  inclina 
tion  to  read  a  Newgate  Calendar  in  verse,  with  a  running  ac 
companiment  of  Satanic  applause,  and  an  occasional  episode  of 
beautiful  blasphemies." 

"  But  Byron,"  said  I,  "  exhibits  his  heroes  in  colors  so  little 
agreeable,  and  paints  the  sufferings  of  remorse  so  darkly  strong, 
that  few,  I  imagine,  would  be  seduced  by  the  examples  which 
he  lays  before  them." 

"Sir,  you  mistake.  'The  fly,'  says  Herbert,  'that  feeds  on 
dung  is  colored  thereby.'  What  we  read  becomes  a  part  of  our 
mind,  and,  even  if  we  condemn,  the  thought  is  there,  and  is 
working  its  evil.  But  in  fact  no  one  reads  this  poet  without 
admiring  him,  for  the  feelings  which  he  excites  are  so  strong 
that  the  book  must  be  thrown  down  in  disgust  or  devoured  with 
transport.  The  natural  element  and  protection  of  the  virtues  is 
calmness  and  sobriety ;  all  excitement  endangers  innocence  ;  all 
familiarity  with  stimulating  feelings  and  engrossing  interests, 
perils  the  heart's  uprightness.  Ignorance  of  vice  is  the  safest 
virtue;  to  shun  temptation  is  the  best  deliverance  from  evil. 
The  passions  are  like  those  demons  with  whom  Afrasiab  sailed 
down  the  river  Oxus ;  our  safety  consists  in  keeping  them 
asleep ;  if  they  wake  we  are  lost,  Byron  rouses  a  whirlwind 
of  emotion  in  the  mind ;  and  it  is  much  if  the  moral  integrity 
is  not  wrecked  in  the  tempest.  Kavagero,  a  noble  Venetian, 
burnt  a  copy  of  Martial  once  every  year :  Childe  Harold 
deserves  the  same  apotheosis.  If  the  size  of  Lord  Byron's 
form  be  measured  by  the  shadow  which  it  has  cast  over 
the  land,  immense  must  be  his  mental  proportions.  He  has 
done  incalculable  evil  to  the  young,  and  more  mischief,  I  sus- 
25 


290  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [JETAT.  20. 

pect,  to  the  world  than  any  other  single  cause  now  in  action. 
Moore  may  foster  some  of  the  details  of  vice,  but  Byron  im 
plants  the  master  sin, — the  demon-father  of  a  countless  brood, 
. — Pride.  At  a  period  when  the  independent  spirit  of  the  times 
requires  the  bridle  far  more  than  the  spur,  he  teaches  his  young 
disciples  to  follow  their  own  headstrong  will,  and  to  defy  all 
moral  restraint, — thus  feeding  the  most  fatal  serpent  that  lurks 
in  the  breast,  and  for  which  there  is  sustenance  enough,  in  all 
conscience,  supplied  by  the  rebellious  suggestions  of  the  native 
disposition.  '  Lust  seizeth  us  in  youth,'  says  one  whose  thoughts 
are  '  quaint  and  solid  as  the  best  yew-hedge,'  '  ambition  in  mid- 
life,  avarice  in  old  age ;  but  vanity  and  pride  are  the  besetting 
sins  that  drive  the  angels  from  our  cradle,  ride  our  first  stick 
with  us,  mount  our  first  horse  with  us,  dream  with  us  at  night, 
wake  with  us  in  the  morning,  and  never  at  any  time  abandon  us. 
There  is  in  the  moral  straits  a  current  from  right  to  wrong,  but 
no  reflux  from  wrong  to  right ;  for  which  destination  we  must 
hoist  our  sails  aloft  and  ply  our  oars  incessantly,  or  night  and 
the  tempest  will  overtake  us,  and  we  shall  shriek  out  in  vain 
from  the  billows,  and  irrecoverably  sink.'  Believe  me,  we  need 
no  incentives  to  the  development  of  this  inherent  evil  of  our 
nature.  We  are  well  assured  that  dark  results  are  reaped  from 
such  a  planting.  For  my  part,  as  Gray  says  of  Rousseau  and 
his  guild,  '  I  can  be  miserable  enough  without  their  assistance,' 
and  there  I  leave  these  lieautoustimoroumenoi  to  those  who  can 
read  them  without  being  worsened." 

"At  all  events,"  said  I,  "if  Byron  must  suffer  the  'suspexerunt 
viri  probi1  of  Pontanus's  epitaph,  he  is  fully  entitled  to  the 
'  amaverunt  bones  mwso?.'  No  man  can  read  Manfred  or  Don 
Juan,  and  withhold  from  the  poet  all  that  his  admirers  claim  for 
him  on  the  score  of  genius.  Manfred's  being  caught  by  the 
Chamois  Hunter  as  he  attempted  to  throw  himself  over  the  pre 
cipice,  and  afterwards,  when  describing  to  the  witch  his  unsuc 
cessful  efforts  at  self-destruction,  mingling  this  reality  with  the 
fancies  of  a  mind  'peopled  with  furies,'  and  saying  that  '  an  all- 
pitiless  demon  held  him  back, — back  by  a  single  hair  which  would 
not  break,'  is  worthy  of  the  hand  which  drew  King  Lear." 


.  20.]  BYRON.  291 

"  The  worst  consequence  of  authors  who  are  popular  from 
some  great  peculiarity,"  said  Wilkins,  striking  into  the  conver 
sation,  "  is  that  they  raise  a  host  of  followers,  who  wear  the 
badge,  but  lack  the  blood  which  gives  that  badge  a  meaning. 
Bulwer  in  this  manner  is  the  literary  offspring  of  Lord  Byron, 
as  the  Mahometans  believe  the  pig  to  have  been  generated  from 
the  excrement  of  the  elephant.  Clemens  Alexandrinus  tells  us 
that  Alexander  the  Great  desired  his  sculptor  to  represent  him 
with  horns,  willing  to  bear  a  deformity  which  associated  him 
with  the  gods.  Bulwer  mimics  Byron's  depravity  in  the  hope 
of  enjoying  Byron's  notoriety,  forgetting  that  an  ass  wears  a 
cloven  foot  as  well  as  a  devil." 

"  Byron,  to  be  sure,  has  a  wilder  energy  and  a  manlier  sweep," 
said  Dr.  Gauden,  "  but  the  matter  of  their  works  is  much  the 
same." 

"  I  have  no  fondness  for  this  philosophic  radicalism ;  this 
moral  system  which  sets  out  with  denying  all  that  the  world  has 
accepted,  and  opposing  all  that  the  world  has  established.  '  Si 
proficere  cupis,'  says  the  great  African  bishop,  'primo  firme 
id  verum  puta  quod  sana  mens  omnium  hominum  ailestatur.' 
Bacon  concludes  his  great  work  by  repudiating  all  charge  of 
wilful  eccentricity  and  opposition :  '  if  I  have  in  any  point  re 
ceded  from  that  which  is  commonly  received,'  says  he,  'it  hath 
been  with  the  purpose  of  proceeding,  in  melius  and  not  in  aliud  ; 
a  mind  of  amendment  and  proficience,  and  not  of  change  and 
difference  ;'  and  Johnson  makes  it  the  worthiest  praise  of  New 
ton  that  he  stood  apart  from  the  multitude,  not  by  deviating 
from  the  path,  but  by  outstripping  them  in  the  march.  The 
world  may  be  wrong,  and  yet  we  may  mistake  'reverse  of  wrong 
for  right  :> 

'Tig,  by  comparison,  an  easy  task 

Earth  to  despise  :  but  to  converse  with  Heaven — 

This  is  not  easy. 

It  seems  to  me,  that  the  principle  of  these  men,  if  they  had  any 
principle,  was,  eternally  to  differ  for  the  sake  of  distinction.  'A 
good  wife,'  says  Damis  in  Lessing's  Young  Author,  '  I  do  not 
expect.  And  if  I  cannot  have  a  very  good,  I  would  rather 


292  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [JETAT.  20. 

have  a  very  bad  one.  An  every-day  woman,  neither  cold  nor 
warm,  neither  this  nor  that,  is  not  fit  for  a  man  of  letters.  If  I 
cannot  have  a  wife  who  will  assert  a  place  in  a  future  disserta 
tion  De  bonis  eruditorum  uxoribus,  let  me  at  least  have  one 
that  will  not  escape  a  writer  De  malis  eruditorum  uxoribus. 
Anything  but  obscurity;  anything  but  mediocrity.'  In  the 
same  spirit,  these  writers  seem  to  say :  '  if  we  cannot  be  men 
tioned  as  those  who  have  written  in  the  best  taste,  we  will  be 
named  as  those  who  have  written  in  the  worst ;  if  we  cannot 
have  the  purest  sentiments,  we  will  have  the  vilest ;  anything 
but  obscurity — anything  but  mediocrity.'" 

"Bulwer — to  use  a  happy  phrase  of  Walpole,"  said  Wilkins, 
"  always  writes  in  issimo.  He  uses  the  dialect  of  Brobdignag. 
If  a  man's  mind  is  uncomfortable,  it  is  with  him — a  hell !  If  one 
sustains  a  loss  which  will  probably  never  be  made  good,  it  is,  in 
his  language,  a  curse  and  an  immortality  !  His  exaggerations 
would  make  Heraclitus  laugh  through  his  tears.  The  passion 
which  is  stamped  on  his  pages  exists  always  rather  in  the  words 
than  in  the  sentiment.  It  is  not  that  excited  feeling  finds  vent 
in  burning  eloquence  which  swells  and  glows  like  glass  under 
the  breath  of  the  blower,  but  he  seems  in  the  dearth  of  energy 
to  pour  forth  these  blustering  syllables  for  the  purpose  of  being 
himself  roused  by  them  to  ecstasy ;  to  work  himself  up  like  a 
bully  by  beating  the  air.  This  style  is  in  description  what  rant 
is  in  acting — always  growing  mightier,  as  true  passion  wanes. 
There  is  a  certain  calmness  about  the  acme  of  feeling — a  security 
which  seems  to  indicate  that  the  suffering  transcends  the  powers 
of  language  to  utter  it,  or  the  strength  of  the  sensibilities  to 
cope  with  it — a  composure  in  the  midst  of  the  most  awful  scenes 
. — which  it  is  the  highest  effort  of  art  to  portray ;  the  rage  and 
the  violence  belong  to  inferior  grades  of  sensation,  and  are  the 
exhibition  of  meaner  artists.  When  Shylock,  in  fear  of  a  loss, 
lances  wild  threats  upon  the  city's  charter,  you  see  that  he  ia 
strongly  excited  :  when  the  whole  prostrating  truth  bursts  upon 
him,  he  says,  'send  the  deed  after  me  :  I  am  not  well.'  Com 
pare  this  with  Croly's  Cataline,  with  the  manner  of  Maturin, 
Godwin  and  Bulwer,  and  you  will  perceive  the  difference  be- 


.  20.]  BULWER.  293 

tween  the  master  and  the  man.  As  a  general  remark,  by-the-by, 
our  elder  classics  exhibit  the  best  specimens  of  energetic  feeling 
temperately  expressed.  Lord  Byron  may  be  taken  as  a  speci 
men  of  power  united  with  fury — the  might  and  vehemence  of 
the  whirlwind.  Bulwer  has  copied  all  his  disorder  and  only 
forgotten  his  strength  ;  he  is  a  prose  Lord  Byron — without  his 
genius." 

"In  looking  at  the  productions  of  all  first -rate  artists,"  said 
Gauden,  "  Shakspeare,  Homer,  and  Scott,  for  example — it  is 
clear  that  in  every  case  they  are  above  their  subject — they  are 
never  overmastered  by  a  passion  which  they  would  develop.  In 
the  midst  of  the  contest,  in  the  height  of  the  agony,  the  narrator 
is  cool  and  judging ;  his  own  sympathies  absolutely  sleep,  and 
his  creations  are  altogether  impersonal.  That  the  excitement 
shall  be  in  the  action  and  not  in  the  author — that  the  moving 
representative  shall  be  the  calm  exhibition  of  a  troubled  scene 
and  not  the  troubled  exhibition  of  a  calm  one — is,  I  apprehend, 
the  experimentum  crucis  of  art.  The  strife  of  Byron  and  the 
confusion  of  Bulwer  are  the  pictures  of  an  ordinary  interest  mir 
rored  in  a  disturbed  fancy.  Homer's  song  of  the  battles  on  the 
banks  of  the  Simois  is  as  passionless  and  calm  as  the  reflection 
of  them  in  the  stream  might  be.  His  poem  shows  action  in 
repose,  boundless  passion  never  tumultuous.  Doubtless  the  in 
terest  must  originate  with  the  author,  but  his  business  is  to 
transfer  it  all  to  his  subject.  If  it  be  conceded — and  I  take  it 
to  be  undeniable — that  genius  is  but  the  highest  art,  and  that, 
invention  being  equal,  the  palm  must  be  given  to  him  in  whom 
judgment  is  most  despotic,  we  settle  the  question  of  merit,  when 
we  say  that  Shakspeare  and  Scott  write  like  the  masters  of  pas 
sion,  and  Byron  and  Bulwer  like  its  slaves." 

"  Bulwer  chiefly  aspires  to  the  praise  of  portraying  character," 
said  Wilkins,  "  and  it  is  there  that  his  failure  is  most  ridiculous. 
His  system  is  Rochefoucauld  caricatured.  He  confounds  the 
concentrative  and  generalizing  quality  of  a  descriptive  character 
with  the  broad  and  diversified  substance  of  a  dramatic  one.  In 
an  epigram  we  may  say,  metaphorically  and  extremely,  that  a 
man  never  means  a  compliment  but  he  makes  an  insult ;  but  to 
25* 


294  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [JSrAT.  20. 

introduce  a  Lord  Aspeden  actually  making  every  speech  through 
out  a  long  conversation,  an  elaborate  rudeness,  is  totally  to  mis 
take  the  limits  of  art :  it  is  to  forget  the  person  in  the  character ; 
to  lose  the  man  in  the  manner ;  to  evaporate  the  substance  into 
the  quality.  It  may  be  said  that  in  many  of  the  plays  of  the 
old  stage-writers,  Shakspeare  among  the  number,  the  personages 
are  mere  embodiments  of  a  feeling  or  idea — what  Ben  Jonson 
calls  personified  'humors.'  But  this  great  distinction  is  to  be 
taken,  that  Richard  and  lago  are  characters  of  passion,  and  a 
passion  may  well  leaven  the  whole  individual  into  its  own  simili 
tude  ;  whereas  Aspeden,  Brown,  and  that  cluster  in  the  'Dis 
owned,'  are  but  the  character  of  manners,  and  manner  is  an 
affectation  which  can  but  flit  over  the  surface,  not  '  enter  into 
the  soul.'  The  qualities  of  nearly  all  his  heroes  are  mixed  in 
impossible  combinations  :  the  flippancy  of  one,  the  philosophy 
of  another,  and  the  feeling  of  a  third  are  selected ;  and,  with  the 
address  of  an  Orford  and  the  morals  of  a  Shippen ;  the  pru 
dence  of  a  sage  and  the  gayety  of  a  boy ;  a  fop's  extravagance 
and  a  warrior's  fortitude — are  all  assigned  to  a  common  man 
of  the  world.  This,  as  Piranesi  told  Fuseli,  is  not  designing 
but  building  a  man.  It  is  a  want  of  psychological  truth.  A 
Henry  Pelham  may  have  really  existed,  and  may  again  exist, 
but  the  novelist  has  to  do  with  generalities ;  he  is  to  describe  a 
species,  not  an  individual.  Pact  is  the  field  of  the  historian, 
and  probability  of  the  romance-writer  :  and  when  the  latter  errs 
against  verisimility,  although  he  is  supported  by  facts,  he  violates 
truth  as  much  as  the  other  does  when  he  contradicts  documents 
for  the  purpose  of  making  a  credible  story.  Herein  Bulwer 
wanders  farther  than  Byron  ;  for  the  poet's  characters  being  in 
wild  and  imaginary  scenes  may  be  warped  into  a  strangeness 
which  we  cannot  venture  to  deny ;  but  the  novelist's-  personages 
being  on  the  terra  firrna  of  a  brick  pavement,  and  breathing  the 
common  air  of  cities,  are  within  a  far  narrower  law.  Lara,  in 
his  wild  solitudes,  above  and  beyond  the  sympathies  of  the 
world,  is  in  a  very  different  predicament  from  Henry  Pelham, 
Esquire,  No.  —  St.  James's  street,  who  reads  newspapers,  and 
keeps  appointments  by  St.  Stephen's  clock.  Besides,  Byron's 


20.]  BULWER.  295 

people  are  self-consistent ;  they  are  under  the  control  of  some 
one  great  impulse,  and  not  swayed  by  a  score  of  opposing  ones. 
Wolfe,  Glanville,  Mordaunt,  and  all  that  clas3  of  choking  gen 
tlemen,  are  creative  lies ;  the  author  does  not  say  '  the  thing 
which  is  not,'  but  he  images  the  thing  which  cannot  be.  They 
are,  like  Macbeth's  dagger, 

A  false  creation, 
Proceeding  from  a  heat-oppressed  brain. 

His  greatest  blunder,  however,  is  the  character  of  Aram.  His 
object  in  that  story  was  to  show  that  a  man  might  be  guilty 
of  a  great  crime,  such  as  murder,  without  having  his  nature  de 
praved  by  it ;  and  to  demonstrate  this  he  falsified  the  character 
of  a  man  whose  story  proved  precisely  the  reverse  ;  for  the  real 
Aram  was  a  dirty  and  vulgar  scoundrel.  Fortunately,  Bulwer's 
theory  is  as  false  as  it  is  mischievous,  for  wherever  he  has  de 
serted  fact  he  has  erred  from  truth." 

"Bulwer  forgets,"  said  Dr.  Gauden,  "that  most  men  as  well 
as  women,  'have  no  characters  at  all.'  He  overlooks  that  class 
which  '  Xature  makes  by  the  gross,  and  sets  no  mark  upon 
them  ;'  a  class  which  largely  shades  the  light  of  life,  and  should 
find  a  place  in  the  tablet  of  the  faithful  portrayer  of  humanity. 
He  willingly  essays  the  complications  of  a  Hamlet,  but  the 
exquisite  nothingness  of  a  James  Gurney  is  beyond  his  skill. 
He  discerns  on  the  shoulders  of  every  lackey  a  head  that  might 
inform  the  counsels  of  cabinets.  His  heroes  have  their  dinners 
announced  by  men  who  might  put  the  Due  de  la  Rochefoucauld 
to  the  blush.  Every  jockey  salutes  them  with  an  epigram,  and 
every  landlord  converses  in  syllogism.  His  very  animals  have 
characters  :  tot  canes,  tot  ingenia.  His  philosophy,  though  it 
seems  to  me  but  a  trick  of  words,  commends  him  I  believe  to 
many,  who,  captured  by  anything  that  is  brilliant  and  novel,  do 
not  stop  to  inquire  if  it  is  true.  When  I  daily  hear  perspicuous 
writers,  such  as  Addison,  Goldsmith,  and  Scott,  put  aside  as 
superficial  thinkers,  and  the  tripod  given  to  those  who  are  con 
sidered  deep  .only  because  they  are  obscure,  I  am  tempted  to 
keep  in  mind  a  curious  but  most  valuable  remark  of  Boling- 


296  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [^TAT.  20. 

broke  upon  that  point.  '  To  speak  the  truth,'  says  that  saga 
cious  writer,  '  though  it  may  seem  a  paradox,  our  knowledge  on 
many  subjects,  and  particularly  on  philosophy  and  metaphysics, 
must  be  superficial  to  be  real.  This  is  the  condition  of  humanity.' 
If  Scott  has  no  system  of  human  action,  it  is  because  human 
action  cannot  be  systematized.  But  one  might  pardon  even 
greater  charlatanry  than  Bulwer's,  if  it  were  set  forth  in  tolerable 
English.  His  style,  with  its  '  varnish  of  words  and  its  garnish 
of  flowers,'  is  decidedly  the  most  vicious  of  the  age  ;  I  can  for 
give  almost  anything  but  the  one-legged  poetry  of  staggering 
prose.  He  does  not  use  comparisons  for  illustration;  simile 
seems  to  be  with  him  a  mode  of  writing.  It  puts  me  fairly  out 
of  temper  to  see  a  man  circling  round  some  thin  notion  in 
endless  gyrations  of  metaphor.  Scott  uses  tropes  very  freely, 
but  his  flowers  have  always  the  significancy  of  an  eastern 
garland." 

"All  Bulwer's  conceptions,"  said  Wilkins,  "lack  the  freshness 
of  true  creation.  There  is  a  total  want  of  generosity  in  the 
author's  mind.  It  is  in  this  wide  nobility  of  sentiment,  this 
sympathy  with  the  free  and  the  foreign,  that  Scott  stands  so 
pre-eminent.  All  his  characters  are  sparkling  with  the  dews  of 
natural  life.  When  Hichard  met  Saladin  and  was  challenged 
by  the  Saracen  to  a  trial  of  strength,  he  undertook  to  sever  with 
his  sword,  an  iron  bar  of  an  inch  and  a  half  diameter.  One  of 
his  attendants  warned  him  of  the  magnitude  of  the  enterprise, 
and  his  own  enfeebled  health  from  illness.  'Peace,  villain!' 
cried  Richard,  settling  himself  firmly  on  the  ground  and  looking 
round  with  fierceness,  '  Thinkest  thou  that  I  could  fail  in  his 
presence  ?'  I  doubt  whether  Mr.  Bulwer  would  have  understood 
the  feeling." 

"  We  may  safely  venture  to  admire  personally  the  man  who 
writes  so,"  said  I,  "  for  he  must  have  had  a  touch  of  the  crusader 
in  him,  who  describes  crusaders  so  well.  Bulwer  never  succeeds 
in  placing  his  characters  independent  on  his  own  mind,  and  look 
ing  at  them  quite  ab  extra.  He  shows  them  to  us  as  they  seem 
to  -him,  not  as  they  were ;  we  see  them  mediately,  not  in  their 
own  bold  individuality.  He  maps  out  their  natures  too  analyti- 


20.]  TRUTH  AND   POPULARITY.  297 

cally ;  in  short,  he  describes,  rather  than  exhibits  them.  The  se 
cret  of  the  failure  is  that  he  is  too  much  of  a  metaphysician  to 
be  a  dramatist.  But,  after  all,  say  what  we  may,  he  is  popular 
beyond  all  rival,  and  I  invariably  bow,  in  all  literary  subjects, 
to  the  judgment  of  the  public.  Storace  used  to  say  that  the 
merits  of  no  musical  composition  could  be  considered  as  settled 
until  it  came  to  be  ground  upon  the  hand-organs." 

"If  I  had  not  taken  so  much  of  Mr.  Benton's  good  wine," 
said  Wilkins,  "  and  if  I  was  not  afraid  of  disturbing  the  audible 
slumbers  of  my  excellent  friend,  Mr.  Rolle,  I  should  enter  at 
large  upon  the  subject  which  yon  moot.  As  it  is,  I  will  only  say 
that  it  is  not  in  the  nature  of  a  truly  great  work  that  it  ever  can 
be  popular.  Nothing  of  exalted  merit  is  capable  of  being  pre 
sented  to  the  public  ;  '  The  Creation,'  for  example,  could  never 
come  upon  a  hand-organ.  That  which  lies  in  the  way  of  the 
mob  enough  to  receive  a  full  hearing,  must  necessarily  be  very 
inferior.  There  is  no  music  in  Yankee  Doodle.  If  I  were  to 
frame  an  extreme  theory  upon  the  subject,  it  should  be  upon  the 
principle  of  the  Greek  philosopher.  '  This  is  right,'  says  Epi 
curus,  'precisely  because  the  people  are  displeased  with  it.'  In 
many  matters  it  must  be  so;  'the  eyes  of  the  multitude,'  said 
Plato, '  are  not  strong  enough  to  look  upon  truth  ;'  and  generally 
where  they  blink  most  there  is  most  truth.  It  is  constantly 
happening  that  in  literature  as  in  every  thing  else,  those  voices 
which  make  up  public  opinion,  are  baying  darkly  where  there  is 
no  game;  but  the  blunder  is  finally  discovered.  'Truth,'  says 
my  Lord  Coke, '  may  peradventure  by  force  for  a  time  be  trodden 
down,  but  never  by  any  means  whatsoever  can  she  be  trodden 
out.'" 

"  Your  doctrine,"  said  Gauden,  "  would  be  'qualis  sopor  fessis' 
to  poor  Chandos  of  Sudeley, — the  peer-less  Sir  Egerton  Brydges. 
He  has  reached  the  conclusion  that  all  good  books  are  unpopular, 
and  by  a  very  harmless  non  distributio  medii,  resolved  therefrom 
that  all  unpopular  books,  like  his  own,  are  good.  The  theme  of 
his  musings  is  still  the  hope  of  Milton  : 

At  ultimi  nepotes, 
Et  cordatior  setas, 


298  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.    [JSrAT.  20. 

Judicia  aoquiora  rebus  forsitan 
Adhibcbit,  integro  sinu. 

The  temper  of  his  intellect  was,  in  fact,  too  feeble  for  the  violence 
of  his  impressions.  I  have  sometimes  heard  it  said  in  derogation 
of  Lord  Byron's  merits,  that  he  was  the  poet  of  temperament, 
rather  than  of  intellect.  I  admit  the  distinction  between  these 
sources  of  inspiration ;  but  in  this  case,  the  delicacy  of  the  tem 
perament  seems  to  me  to  exalt  the  marvel  of  the  intellect.  For 
immense  mental  power  must  have  been  required  to  constrain 
such  ardor  of  excitement  to  intelligent  expression.  Passion  fur 
nishes  materials  for  creation,  but  is,  in  itself,  its  antipodes.  In  the 
reasoning  fervor  and  logical  fury  of  the  Giaour,  I  am  impressed 
even  to  awe,  by  the  fearless  might  of  intellect  which  every  where 
copes  and  conquers  the  volcanic  vehemence  of  feeling.  To  break 
up  into  meaning  words  the  inarticulate  roar  of  suffering, — to  syl 
lable  the  yell  of  anguish,  is  like  snaffling  a  tornado,  or  tying  knots 
in  a  thunderbolt." 

"But  when  I  hear  of  these  neglected  authors  praying  for  jus 
tice,  I  think  of  the  Regent's  reply  to  a  similar  request  of  Vol 
taire  when  he  had  been  slapped  for  being  insolent,  '  mais  elle  est 
fatte."' 

"Poor  Sir  Egerton  !"  said  Wilkins.  "  The  history  of  his  mind 
and  fortunes  has  matter  that  might  give  us  pause.  Born  with 
talents  of  no  common  order,  and  feelings  and  sensibilities  of  the 
most  delicate  texture, — the  stuff  that  bards  are  wrought  of ;  im 
pelled  to  a  career  of  mental  exertion  by  a  most  passionate  ardor 
for  distinction,  and  aided  in  it  by  all  the  advantages  which  high 
rank  and  abundant  wealth  could  furnish,  he  has,  after  a  long 
life  of  toil  and  struggling,  to  look  back  over  a  dreary  track  of 
painful  effort  and  bitter  suffering,  and  forward  to  a  prospect  of 
oblivion.  After  seventy-five  years  of  incessant  literary  labor,  he 
is  known  to  the  world  by  a  caricature  in  Frazer,  a  philippic  in 
the  Edinboro',  and  a  passing  encomium  from  Southey.  Yet  the 
old  man,  an  exile  in  a  distant  land,  with  broken  fortune,  and  un 
strung  and  embittered  mind,  may  teach  to  every  author  a  lesson 
that  shall  make  him  a  'sadder  and  a  wiser  man.'  With  all  his 
endowments,  why  is  not  his  statue  in  the  temple  of  Fame  ? 


.  20.]        SIR  EGERTON  BRYDGES.  299 

Merely  from  want  of  patient  meditation  and  resolute  self-study  ; 
merely  because  he  did  not  master  his  genius  and  control  his 
temperament.  When  he  experienced  an  inclination  to  literature, 
he  sat  down  to  rummage  among  dusty  antiquities  ;  when  he  felt 
the  stirrings  of  poetic  sensibility,  instead  of  watching  them,  and 
seizing  a  directing  theme  to  the  production  of  feeling  beauties, 
he  only  speculated  about  their  existence  in  all  great  poets,  and 
thereupon  concluded  that  he  too  was  a  great  poet.  He  should 
have  grappled  with  his  emotions,  and  controlled  them  to  crea 
tion.*  I  verily  believe,  that  by  intense  observation  of  the  work 
ings  of  his  own  mind,  Brydges  might  have  risen  at  length  to  such 
nervous  conceptions,  as  live  and  move,  and  have  their  being  in 
Byron's  pages.  He  studied  books  far  too  much  ;  had  he  burned 
his  folios,  the  flame  might  have  lighted  the  fire  of  a  great  poetical 
genius.  When  he  felt,  he  should  have  analysed ;  then  he  might 
have  reproduced.  The  want  of  calm  reflection,  and  the  pain  en 
countered  in  confronting  one's  own  mind,  have  generated  an 
impatient  habit  of  thought.  He  is  unwilling  to  enter  upon  a 
mine  of  deep  inquiry ;  if  a  subject  of  discussion  starts  up  before 
him,  he  defers  it  to  a  more  convenient  season,  or  lets  the  reader 
know  that  he  is  preparing  a  separate  work  upon  that  point.  He 
thinks  in  fragments  ;  and,  uninclined  or  unable  to  continue  long 
upon  the  wing,  ever  fails  to  reach  any  thing  truly  great." 

"What  you  say  is  very  just,"  said  I;  "he  has  the  wildness 
rather  than  the  fulness  of  the  pulse  of  genius.  But  after  erery 
abatement,  I  would  still  give  my  hearty  vote  that  he  should  take 
the  very  highest  place  among  our  prose  authors.  There  is  no 
writer  whose  works  I  have  more  frequently  in  my  hands,  and 
none  to  whom  I  feel  more  inclined  to  make  those  grateful  acknow 
ledgments  which  every  man  owes  to  him  who  has  improved  and 
amused  him,  who  has  informed  his  understanding,  and  gratified 

*  Since  these  paragraphs  were  penned,  the  unfortunate  baronet  has  inherited 
another  and  a  darker  title,  "per  legem  terrce."  His  last  years  were  passed  in 
great  poverty  at  Geneva ;  where  a  recent  Galignani  states  that  he  lately  died. 
The  sneer  of  ridicule  was  the  best  return  his  literary  efforts  met  in  life;  but, 
methinks,  "  they  must  have  hearts  very  tough  and  dry,"  to  use  the  quaint  ex 
pression  of  Hooker,  who  will  now  refuse  to  shed  a  tear  over  the  sorrows  of  this 
high  minded,  but  most  unhappy  man. 


300  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.        [^TAT.  20. 


his  taste.  He  is  the  English  Montaigne,  with  vastly  stronger 
blood.  His  knowledge  of  the  world  is  thorough  ;  his  knowledge 
of  the  human  heart  singularly  deep  and  searching.  His  critical 
perceptions  are  unerring  ;  his  critical  principles,  I  think,  wrong, 
but  they  never  affect  his  conclusions,  for  he  never  follows  them 
but  in  general  speculations  ;  he  says,  for  example,  that  poetry 
should  be  natural  and  unconstrained,  and  adds  that  Gray  is  one 
of  the  greatest  of  poets.  His  letters  on  Lord  Byron  constitute, 
in  my  judgment,  the  finest  piece  of  particular  criticism  that  this 
or  any  language  contains,  though  he  assigns  the  noble  poet  a 
much  higher  rank  than  you  or  I  would  concede  to  him.  His 
style  is  perfect  ;  formed  upon  no  model,  but  growing  up  from 
ceaseless  and  easy  employment  of  the  pen,  it  is  rich,  but  not 
loaded  ;  natural,  but  full  of  vigor  ;  it  fascinates  by  its  refinement, 
and  compels  by  its  strength.  The  harsh  points  which  he  often  pre 
sents  to  the  reader  will  prevent  his  ever  being  much  of  a  favorite 
with  the  multitude,  but  kinder  qualities  endear  him  to  the  man 
of  letters.  He  seems,  in  truth,  to  possess  a  two-fold  nature  ;  of 
which  one  part  is  querulous,  irritable,  egotistical  and  assuming  ; 
the  other,  gentle,  generous,  and  genial.  That  side  of  his  mind 
which  is  turned  towards  men,  is  like  the  side  of  a  high  promon 
tory  that  regards  the  sea,  rough,  abrupt,  and  unpleasant  of  ac 
cess  :  but  that  which  looks  towards  poetry  and  the  free  fields  of 
genius,  is  like  the  other  side  which  lies  towards  the  land,  and  is 
fanned  by  the  mild  inland  breezes,  soft,  smooth,  and  sunny, 
mantled  with  roses,  and  refreshing  to  the  reposer.  To  despise 
golden  opinion  is  too  much  his  failing.  But  he  is  a  fine  thinker  ; 
and  a  judicious  selection,  in  two  or  three  volumes,  from  the 
whole  mass  of  his  works,  would  form  a  treasury  of  wisdom. 
He  is,  moreover,  a  true  poet,  and  that  he  has  achieved  no  great 
poem,  is  the  fatal  result  of  a  false  poetical  theory.  If,  instead 
of  writing  fourteen  thousand  lines  in  four  years,  as  he  oddly 
boasts,  he  had  written  but  fourteen,  his  fame  had  been  secure. 
He  has  not  attained  the  rare  and  fine  art  '  de  faire  difficilement 
des  vers.J  " 

"It  is  queer,"  said  Wilkins,  "that  Brydges  and  his  brother 
reprinters  should  imagine  that  the  rescuing  which  they  gave  to 


.  20.]  SIR  EGERTON  BRYDGES.  301 

perishing  works,  was  of  any  service,  or  should  think  that  they 
benefitted  letters  while  they  made  a  point  of  limiting  their  issues 
to  'only  twenty  copies,'  or  in  some  cases  that  I  remember  '  de- 
cem  exemplaria  so/a.'  Surely,  such  an  impression  left  the  book, 
so  far  as  the  public  was  concerned,  the  same  sealed  treasure  that 
it  found  it.  Those  bibliomaniacs  were  a  worthless  set." 

"Harmless,  rather,"  said  Dr.  Gauden.  "They  amused  them 
selves  highly,  and  they  injured  nobody.  They  erected  typography 
into  one  of  the  fine  arts,  and  thus  extended  the  sources  of  inof 
fensive  pleasure.  The  investigation  of  a  date  or  an  author's  first 
name,  is  very  capable,  I  assure  you,  of  delighting  and  even  im 
proving  the  best  faculties  of  the  mind  ;  and  to  bear  off  an  '  editio 
princeps,7  from  a  circle  of  panting  bidders,  in  the  rich  conscious 
ness  of  envied  ownership,  is  a  pleasure  which  a  sage  would 
scarcely  venture  to  ridicule,  or  a  divine  to  condemn.  To  be  un 
profitable  is  not  the  worst  quality  of  a  mundane  occupation ; 
and  I  would  that  mankind  in  the  pursuit  of  honor,  wealth,  and 
power,  were  always  as  honorably  or  as  wisely  employed  as  was 
the  Roxburghe  club  in  discussing  ekes  and  alrjates." 

"  Sir  Egerton's  poetry,"  said  Benton,  "has  one  merit ;  that  of 
being  intelligible  ;  a  merit  which  is  certainly  rare  and  probably 
great ;  for,  as  a  general  rule,  the  best  writing  is  the  most  intelli 
gible.  Pope  and  Addison  every  body  can  understand  ;  but  what 
can  you  make  of  the  poetry  of  Shelley  or  the  prose  of  Coleridge  ?" 

"Shelley  I  abandon,"  said  Wilkins,  "for  I  never  read  him. 
But  of  Coleridge  it  must  indeed  be  confessed,  that  if  he  has  the 
truth,  he  has  also  the  obscurity,  of  an  oracle.  Yet,  amidst  the 
perplexed  and  tangled  disquisitions  with  which  his  writings 
abound,  you  meet  occasionally  with  a  splendid  simile  or  a  glo 
rious  burst  of  poetry,  which  produces  upon  the  irritated  mind 
the  same  startling  delight,  the  same  rich  relief  which  occurs  to 
him  who,  wandering  through  a  thick  and  undergrown  forest  by 
moonlight,  comes  suddenly  upon  a  clear,  amphitheatral  opening, 
where  the  moon  is  reposing  calmly  on  the  silent  grass,  and  shed 
ding  its  silvery  lustre  upon  the  green-topped  trees ;  he  pauses 
for  a  moment  to  gaze  on  the  heaven-decked  scene,  and  breathe 
in  freedom  the  expansive  air ;  a  spring  of  love  bursts  from  his 
26 


302  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [JErAr.  20. 

heart ;  he  blesses  nature  for  her  gladness,  and  plunges  again  into 
the  thicket,  refreshed  and  invigorated  in  soul.  The  obscurity 
of  Herand  and  Hazlitt  proceeds  from  a  very  different  cause 
from  Coleridge's ;  for  '  true,  no  meaning  puzzles  more  than  wit.' 
Hazlitt's  thoughts  are  like  the  illuminated  letters  in  the  old 
manuscripts ;  so  overlaid  with  ornaments  that  you  cannot  get  at 
the  meaning ;  and  when  you  do  fathom  it,  it  is  but  the  fragment 
of  the  sign  of  an  idea." 

"Let  not  Coleridge,"  said  Mr.  Rolle,  "that  'spirit,  still,  of 
height  unknown,'  be  classed  with  that  servile  company  who  wore 
his  livery  and  disgraced  his  name.  In  the  store-house  of  criti 
cism  there  is  no  line  which  has  measured  the  depth  of  his  seeing ; 
no  glass  has  yet  described  the  height  of  his  imaginings.  With 
his  works  before  you,  it  baffles  you  to  comprehend  and  to  mea 
sure  the  extent  of  his  powers.  His  mind  was  a  different  faculty 
from  that  of  other  people  ;  it  was  an  extraordinary  combination 
of  perception,  feeling,  and  imagination,  and  all  these  qualities 
seemed  to  be  exerted  at  once  ;  it  was  as  if  he  had  observed  with 
his  heart  and  thought  with  his  fancy.  You  look  upon  his  dis 
coveries  in  the  tracts  of  truth,  with  the  surprise  and  awe  with 
which  you  would  watch  a  man  performing  operations  by  means 
of  a  new  and  peculiar  sense.  He  stood  at  the  centre  whence 
poetry,  morals,  and  metaphysics  originate,  and  he  commanded 
them  all.  He  became  a  poet  by  piercing  all  the  mysteries  of 
philosophy,  and  a  philosopher,  by  treasuring  all  the  revelations 
of  poetry.  It  would  take  a  life-time  to  exhaust  his  discoveries. 
His  sentences  are  heavy  with  rivelled  thought ;  they  are  swollen 
with  pregnant  conceptions." 

"Coleridge  thought  in  metaphor,"  said  Wilkins,  "and  that 
makes  a  brilliant  but  not  an  accurate  thinker.  His  invention 
was  endless,  but  he  was  destitute  of  judgment.  He  could  ana 
lyse  in  detail  inimitably,  but  he  conld  not  compose  or  embrace 
many  rival  suggestions.  A  master  intellect  habitually  contem 
plates  every  thought  in  its  relations  to  all  other  kindred  or  op 
posing  thoughts ;  the  entrance  of  Kehama  into  Padalon  is  an 
emblem  of  the  manner  in  which  a  great  mind  reaches  truth. 
Coleridge  could  invent  theories  but  he  could  not  choose  between 


.    20.]  COLERIDGE.  303 

them ;  he  could  broach  opinions,  but  he  could  not  tell  their 
value.  He  could  build  systems  and  he  could  defend  them  ;  but 
he  could  not  demonstrate  the  truth.  In  fact,  Coleridge  was  a 
poet ;  the  greatest,  perhaps,  that  ever  lived ;  but  he  was  no  more 
than  a  poet.  He  carries  into  all  researches  the  spirit  of  a 
dreamer  by  the  lonely  woods.  All  his  thoughts  have  been 
bathed  in  the  tide  of  the  passions  ;  his  reasonings  seem  to  be  wet 
with  sensibility.  His  breast  is  momently  swept  with  the  gusts 
of  feeling ;  his  sentences  seem  to  tremble  with  feeling.  There 
never  was  a  mind  in  which  the  materials  of  poetry  lay  in  richer 
or  more  splendid  profusion." 

"  As  a  poet  for  this  life,  I  prefer  Wordsworth  to  all  his  con 
temporaries,"  said  Rolle  ;  "I  hope  to  read  Coleridge  in  another. 
I  look  upon  Coleridge  as  one  who,  in  the  cycle  of  progressive 
being,  had  got  ahead  of  the  rest  of  mankind  by  two  or  three 
stages  of  existence.  I  imagine,  however,  that  if  Pericles  were 
alive,  he  would  prefer  Campbell  to  all  the  poets  of  this  time. 
But  if  you  require  feeling  in  poetry,  there  is  no  one  richer  in  the 
wealth  of  the  heart  than  Mrs.  Hemans.  With  what  luxurious 
Sybaritism  of  sensibility  she  atmosphered  her  mind  1  She  seems 
to  have  realized  to  the  fancy  the  delicious  impossibilities  with 
which  Yolpone  tempted  Celia  : 

Your  bath  shall  be  the  juice  of  July  flowers, 
Spirit  of  roses  and  of  violets  I" 

"I  cannot  join  in  the  high  admiration  which  you  express 
of  Coleridge,"  said  Dr.  Gauden.  "I  confess  myself  unable  to 
take  the  distinction  which  is  very  usually  admitted  between  the 
man  and  the  author.  I  cannot  respect  even  the  intellectual 
qualities  of  one  who  lived,  like  Coleridge,  in  open  defiance  of 
the  most  solemn  and  sacred  duties  of  life.  There  must  have  been 
something  very  unsound  in  the  perceptions  of  a  mind  that  did 
not  see  and  admit  that  the  obligations  resting  on  a  husband  and 
father  were  paramount  to  all  personal  aspirations  after  Fame  or 
even  Wisdom.  If  virtue  and  poetry  are  inconsistent,  no  man 
who  has  just  notions  of  the  real  value  of  reputation,  would  hesi 
tate  which  to  renounce. 


304  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.    [JETAT.  20. 

Integra  sit  morum  tibi  vita;  HJCC  Pyramis  esto: 
Et  poterint  tumulo  sex  satis  esse  pedes." 

"  I  fully  admit  the  weightiness  of  the  suggestions  which  you 
make,"  said  Wilkins  ;  "but  before  we  condemn  a  man  like  Cole 
ridge,  let  us  consider  the  mighty  temptations  which  assailed  him. 
Let  us  remember  how  nearly  we  have  been  destroyed  by  the 
puny  passions  which  have  played  through  our  breasts,  and  let 
us  not  mock  the  mighty  ruin  over  which  the  hottest  ploughshares 
of  hell  have  been  urged.  The  strong  seductions  and  fierce  trials 
of  the  heart  of  genius  who  shall  estimate  ?  Such  men  are  in  a 
raging  tumult  even  from  their  very  birth ;  they  are  living  always 
in  the  midst  of  tempests,  and  never,  during  life,  enjoy  the  blessing 
of  clear  vision  or  calm  touch.  They  are  never  masters  of  them 
selves  ;  but  their  will  is  swayed,  like  a  wave-mounted  ship,  by  the 
surgings  of  the  sea  of  passion.  What  does  an  ordinary  mind 
know  of  the  inner  storm  and  whirlwind,  as  it  were,  of  restlessness, 
. — the  craving  after  excitement  and  high  action,. — the  inability 
to  calm  the  breast  and  repose  in  fixity,. — the  wild  beatings  and 
widowed  longing  after  sympathy, — which  rack  those  hearts  which 
are  born  with  the  ocean's  temper  and  the  lion's  mettle  ?  The 
feeling  which  attends  these  high  endowments  is  like  a  caged 
panther,  that  rages  to  leap  upon  some  satisfying  object,  and  if 
barred  from  that,  boils  and  lashes  tumultuously  in  its  den.  Then 
consider  how  hard  a  task  it  is  for  the  lofty  intellect  to  learn  hu 
mility, — for  the  blood-royal  of  genius  to  be  tutored, — for  the  far- 
glancing,  eagle-eyed,  eagle-spirited  soul  to  be  schooled  in  the 
dull  lore  of  duty.  About  the  heart  of  genius  the  passions  gather 
as  to  a  stately  midnight  banquet:  hard-breathing  Ambition, 
frowning,  stone-eyed, — deep-masked  Love,  scattering  from  his 
censer  dimming  fumes  and  enervating  odors,. — coarse-vested 
Pride,  with  curling  lip,  ready  to  pluck  his  eye  out  if  it  be  ad 
mired, — lean  Sensibility,  quick-glancing,  pale-cheeked  and  vul 
ture-beaked.  Existence  is  to  such  men  anguish  ;  every  pulse  is 
pain  ;  their  breath  is  a  sigh.  The  inward  and  incessant  strife  of 
the  spirit,. — the  instinctive  jar  and  discord  of  the  feeling, — the 
inevitable  chasing  of  the  soul  even  in  its  calmest  hours  and 
quietest  moods, — will  move  the  heart  to  tears  without  a  grief. 


20.]  TEMPTATIONS   OF  GENIUS.  305 

Shall  we  wonder  that  this  constant  suffering  makes  them  reck 
less,  and  saps  and  shatters  the  moral  being  ?  It  is  the  severe  lot 
of  genius  that  its  blessedness  should  be  its  bane ;  that  that  wherein 
its  heavenly  franchise  gives  it  to  excel  mankind,  is  the  point 
wherein  it  should  be  cursed  above  its  brethren.  For  its  high 
privilege  is  to  taste  of  pleasures  inappreciable  to  mortal  tongue ; 
in  the  empyreal  privacies  of  lonely  thought  to  enjoy  the  manna 
of  angelic  natures;  in  the  fragrant  bowers  of  fancy  to  feast  on 
dream-food, — 

On  honey-dew  to  feed, 
And  driuk  the  milk  of  Paradise. 

Thus  is  its  taste  depraved  by  its  celestial  birthright :  and  thus 
does  its  craving  after  rich  and  strange  delights  render  it  ever 
restless  amid  the  pale  joys  and  cold  and  quiet  offerings  of  the 
earth.  To  suffering  also  it  brings  the  same  exquisite  sensibility 
as  to  pleasure ;  it  is  Apician  in  its  griefs ;  pursuing  and  extract 
ing  the  taste  of  woe  through  all  its  hidden  forms.  The  spirit  that 
abides  in  the  still  valleys  of  contented  mediocrity  can  know  as 
little  of  the  gigantic  sorrows  and  sufferings  and  allurements  and 
goadings  of  a  great  soul  that  mounts  amid  the  shelving  cloudage 
of  the  highest  skies,  as  the  shaded  pool  can  know  of  the  deep 
sweeping  currents  of  the  sea,  or  the  swelling  whirlpool  of  a  gulf. 
Let  the  shore  thick-strewn  with  the  wrecks  of  gallant  ships,  and 
let  the  haggard  and  storm-stained  state  of  the  vessel  which  has 
escaped,  declare  the  perils  of  the  deep  ;  and  let  the  utter  de 
struction  of  Burns  and  Byron  and  Rousseau  and  Mirabeau,  and 
the  rent  and  shattered  escape  of  Johnson  and  Hall  and  Collins, 
confess  that  genius  is  an  awful  gift.  It  is,  indeed,  a  noteworthy 
fact  that  no  man  possessed  of  that  character  of  genius  which  is 
attended  with  very  susceptible  feelings,  has  ever  escaped  moral 
shipwreck,  except  under  the  pilotage  of  ardent  religion.  Long 
was  Coleridge  the  sport  of  the  wayward  winds  of  passion ;  but 
he  found  at  last  the  quiet  harbor.  Doctor,  can  you  remember 
his  opium,  when  you  read  his  letter  to  little  Kinnaird  ?" 

"When  I  call  to  mind,"  said  Dr.  Gauden,  "the  history  of 
the  Popes  and  Spensers  of  another  day,  and  the  Scotts  and  Sou- 
2G* 


306  FRAGMENTAL   LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [JEtAT.  20. 

theys  of  our  own,  I  must  hesitate  before  I  admit  that  genius 
always  requires  this  special  dispensation.  If  you  would  compare 
the  moral  tone  of  true  genius  with  spurious, — of  that  poetical 
ability  which  springs  from  the  soundness  of  the  head,  with  that 
which  is  generated  by  the  corruption  of  the  heart, — contrast 
Lord  Byron  with  Mr.  Southey.  Byron's  enervating  interest  is 
like  the  fatal  sweetness  of  the  panther's  breath  and  body  ;  Sou- 
they's  untainted  vigor  has  the  fragrance  of  the  free  mountain  air 
of  virtue  :  the  one  degrades  and  belittles  the  reader ;  the  other 
exalts  and  strengthens  him:  the  one  is  'naturally  inclined  to  be 
lieve  the  worst,  which  is  the  certain  mark  of  a  mean  spirit  and 
a  wicked  soul;'  the  other  is  generous  with  'the  princely  heart 
of  innocence.'  Southey  is  of  the  royal  lineage  of  ancient  genius, 
and  has  the  robust  and  warrior-blood  of  the  old  kings  of  wisdom : 
with  the  lascivious  pleasing  of  modern  favorites, — the  perfumed 
softness  of  these  immortals  of  a  season, — he  has  no  kindred. 
Most  of  us  '  destine  only  that  time  of  age  to  goodness,  which  our 
want  of  ability  will  not  let  us  employ  in  evil ;'  Southey  has  con 
secrated  to  virtue  the  best  vigor  of  his  manly  days.  With  one 
or  two  exceptions,  I  confess  that  I  rarely  trouble  myself  to  open 
any  of  these  late  volumes  of  elegant  literature ;  and  when  I  do, 
I  usually  find  that  no  faculty  is  exercised  except  my  memory. 
The  remains  of  the  old  temples  at  Athens  have  served  as  the 
materials  of  all  the  structures  that  have  been  erected  there  during 
many  centuries,  and  the  quarry  of  Pentelicus  has  not  been  opened 
since  Phidias  and  Praxiteles  digged  beauty  from  its  bosom. 
The  material  condition  is  but  an  emblem  of  the  intellectual ;  the 
moderns  have  never  visited  nature  as  their  ancestors  did,  but 
have  been  contented  to  transpose,  to  vary,  and  reset  the  gems 
which  their  bold  predecessors  seized  from  the  treasury  of  her 
wealth.  While  I  allow  the  moderns  to  dictate  upon  all  subjects 
relating  to  the  economy  of  life, — since,  that  matter  being  founded 
on  experiment,  the  latest  production  is  likely  to  be  the  best :— - 
for  all  that  adorns  and  charms  existence,  for  elegance  in  poetry, 
and  purity  and  strength  in  prose  composition,  we  must  turn  to 
the  models  of  another  time.  The  throne  of  science  may  be 
founded  in  cities — the  resorts  of  manhood  ; — but  the  shrine  of 


.  20.]  THE  GREEK  ANTHOLOGY.  30f 

the  muses  is  in  the  valley  of  our  childhood.  Thither  will  we  re 
tire  from  the  mechanical  and  'busy  hum  of  men,'  to  listen  to 
those  masters  who  '  instruct  without  clamor,  and  heal  without 
stripes.'  The  fresh  vapors  that  curled  about  the  mountain-tops, 
melted  in  the  morning  of  our  existence  into  streams  of  crystal 
purity,  with  which  the  narrow  and  muddy  rivulets  that  gurgle 
at  mid-day,  may  not  be  compared.  Life  is  not  long  enough  for 
all  knowledge,  and  while  we  linger  among  the  moderns,  we  may 
be  neglecting  the  wisdom  of  antiquity  forever.  Non  refert 
quam  multos,  sed  quam  bonos  habeas  libros;  multitudo  libro- 
rum  oner  at  non  instruit,  et  satius  est  paucis  auctoribus  te 
tradere,  quam  errare  per  multos.  I  am  at  least  sure  of  meeting 
among  the  ancients,  what  will  neither  vitiate  my  principles,  nor 
deprave  my  passions ;  but  much  that  will  better  fit  me  for  the 
duties  of  life,  the  only  thing  that  is  valuable  in  life.  The  sound 
ing  extravagances  of  Byron  and  his  fellows,  are  to  me  but  as 
music  to  a  deaf  man's  ear;  and  I  could  wish,"  added  the  doctor, 
rising,  "  that  on  my  tomb  might  be  inscribed  a  sentiment  like 
that  on  Evelyn's  :  '  In  an  age  of  extraordinary  events  and  revo 
lutions,  he  learned  that  all  is  vanity  which  is  not  honest,  and 
that  there  is  no  solid  wisdom  but  in  real  piety.' — But  there  is 
Benton,  more  fast  asleep  than  ever  on  the  sofa ;  '  vino  ciboque 
gravatus.'  It  is  time  to  go.  Take  a  seat  in  my  carriage  which 
is  waiting." 


A   DIALOGUE    IN   A    LIBRARY. 

The  Greek  Anthology — The  Superiority  of  the  Moral  Science  of  Heathenism  to 
that  of  Infidelity — Modern  Popular  Education — Moral  and  intellectual  train 
ing — A  life  of  Meditation  and  Action. 

"  Pleasant,  indeed,  very  pleasant  it  is  to  us — to  recur  for  a  brief  hour  to  the  themes  of 
those  sweet  and  silent  studies  in  -which  -we  passed  our  youth ;  and  to  take  a  second 
draught  at  the  fountains  of  almost  all  that  is  just  and  beautiful  in  human  language." — 
THE  QUARTERLY  REVIEW. 

SOME  days  after  my  friend  Benton's  dinner,  I  had  rambled 
through  the  country  several  miles.  As  I  was  returning  home, 
my  course  happened  to  bring  me  in  the  neighborhood  of  a  person 


308  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [^ETAT.  20. 

whom  I  had  known  some  years  before,  and  whom  I  had  often 
thought  of  calling  upon,  without  ever  accomplishing  m y  purpose. 
I  determined  to  take  advantage  of  the  opportunity,  and  look  in 
upon  him.  He  was  one  of  that  old  race  of  scholars,  whose  num 
bers  time  is  daily  lessening,  without  the  prospect  of  a  future 
crop.  The  tendency  of  mind  in  the  present  day  is  from  thought 
to  action.  From  various  causes,  among  which  the  rapid  exten 
sion  of  popular  privilege,  and  the  increasing  excitement  of  the 
daily  press  may  be  prominently  named,  the  whole  system  of  life 
in  all  its  departments  is  in  a  hurried  and  agitated  state.  In 
times  not  remotely  past,  a  literary  man  in  his  country  residence 
was  completely  separated  from  all  disturbance,  and  dwelt  calmly 
circled  with  the  quiet  of  his  books :  now,  the  gazettes  bring  be 
fore  his  view  scenes  of  perpetual  movement  in  the  political  world, 
and  a  host  of  magazines  present  a  prospect  of  still  more  stirring 
action  in  the  literary  community ;  and  with  his  interests  thus 
quickened,  and  his  passions  thus  roused,  he  will  not  be  able  to 
return  to  the  gentle  studies  and  passive  contemplation  which 
once  beguiled  his  peaceful  hours.  When,  with  the  welfare  of 
humanity  clinging  strongly  about  him,  and  the  concerns  of  truth 
alive  within  his  bosom,  he  sees  the  pennon  of  the  cause  he  loves, 
now  rising,  now  bending,  in  the  turmoil  of  the  conflict,  he  will 
pant  to  join  the  struggle,  and  aid  the  interests  he  so  warmly 
cherishes. 

Mr.  Woodward  was  far  from  being  one  of  the  race  of  mere 
bookworms,  an  unprofitable  company  of  perverse  idlers.  Still, 
mere  acquisition  of  learning  had  been  his  profession.  He  was 
a  thoughtful  and  acomplished  man,  of  ingenious  rather  than  for 
cible  talents,  of  more  sentiment  than  vigor  of  reason,  and  of  a 
finer  delicacy  in  perception  than  power  of  invention.  He  was 
now  considerably  past  the  noon  of  life,  and  his  feelings  had  be 
come  regulated  by  the  discipline  of  philosophy,  and  his  opinions 
mellowed  by  meditation  and  experience.  He  had  from  boyhood 
been  a  student ;  consecrating  to  learning  the  passion  of  his  youth, 
the  power  of  his  manhood,  the  leisure  of  his  age.  He  had  been, 
during  some  part  of  his  life,  a  traveller ;  but  travel  to  a  man  like 
him,  far  from  a  relaxation  or  a  loss,  was  but  a  period  of  more 


.  20.]  THE   GREEK  ANTHOLOGY.  309 

diligent  application.  I  found  him  "  the  mild,  the  learned,  and 
the  good  ;"  arrived  at 

That  better  stage  of  human  life, 
When  vain  imaginations,  troublous  thoughts, 
And  Hopes  and  Fears  have  had  their  course,  and  left 
The  intellect  composed,  the  heart  at  rest, 
Nor  yet  decay  hath  touched  our  mortal  frame. 

When  I  entered  his  library,  he  was  reclining  on  a  sofa,  and 
musing,  with  half  closed  eyes,  over  a  volume  of  the  Greek  An 
thology.  He  received  me  with  polished  courtesy,  for  he  belonged 
to  a  family  of  honorable  rank,  and  had  in  former  years  mingled 
a  good  deal  in  society,  and  I  began  the  conversation  with  a  re 
mark  on  the  work  which  he  held  in  his  hand. 

"  Of  all  the  soothing  words  of  the  wise,"  said  he,  "  which  have 
come  down  to  us  from  the  ancient  world,  there  is  no  volume 
more  a  favorite  with  me  than  this  of  the  Anthology.  I  look 
upon  it  as  the  minute-book  of  antiquity's  confessional.  The 
poems  here  collected  were  not  intended  for  the  strenuous  world, 
nor  were  fitted  to  mingle  among  the  household  literature  of  Athe 
nian  gaiety  ;  but  they  are  the  wild,  and  hurried,  and  abrupt  so 
liloquies  of  deep  and  mighty  spirits,  who  mutter  the  inward  re- 
vealings  of  consciousness  in  some  moment  when  the  under  eddy 
of  feeling,  setting  in  with  the  upper  current  of  habit,  throws  up 
the  sentiments  that  had  lurked  unseen  beneath  the  surface ;  soli 
loquies,  which  like  the  story  of  The  Ancient  Mariner,  seem  uttered 
almost  in  despite  of  self.  Through  all  of  them  there  runs  that 
tender  sadness  which  always  marks  a  deep  thinker  upon  man's 
condition.  In  their  exoteric  pleas,  the  voice  of  the  ancient  is  a 
voice  of  joy  and  eager  invitation  to  the  feast  of  life ;  here  you 
have  collected  in  golden  vessels  the  waters  of  that  bitterness 
which  ever  wells  from  the  fullest  fountains  of  earth's  purest  joys. 
The  ancients  compared  with  the  moderns,  seem  like  the  actors 
on  a  lofty  stage,  compared  with  the  homely  spectators  in  the  pit. 
In  their  histories,  their  epics,  and  their  tragedies,  you  perceive 
a  buskined  dignity  of  sentiment,  a  heroic  elevation  in  every  rank 
of  life,  above  the  every-day  familiarity  of  our  times,  the  loftiness 
of  people  declaiming  in  blank  verse.  You  find  in  their  greater 


310  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [MTA.T.  20. 

writings  none  of  the  humbling  confessions  of  later  days,  none  of 
the  used  appearance  of  modern  literature,  as  of  the  gloss  worn 
off,  the  dew  dried  up ;  the  reserved  muse  emits  never  the  moan 
of  sympathy,  or  the  whining  plaint  of  personal  emotions,  but 
speaks  always  in  the  tone  of  distant  command,  or  dignified  in 
struction.  But  in  this  volume  the  secret  all  comes  out.  Here 
we  have  their  real  and  naked  sentiments  of  their  own  state,  the 
desponding  prospect,  the  regretful  retrospect,  the  signs  of  a  laden 
and  troubled  heart,  the  evidence  '  in  spite  of  pride'  that  '  life  to 
every  one  that  breathes  is  full  of  cares.'  Here  we  meet  the  feel 
ing  confutation  of  the  '  bold  denial  hourly  urged  amid  the  wrang 
ling  schools,'  the  vague  and  unsatisfied  aspiration,  the  indefinite 
doubt,  the  startled  and  confused  suspicion, — arising  when  the  real 
and  ideal  clash,  when  conscience  jarringly  conflicts  with  belief,. — • 
that  all  is  not  right  in  the  common  creed,  that  there  is  some  in 
explicable  blunder  in  the  established  system.  Many  of  these  epi 
grams  I  passed  by  in  my  youth,  concluding  them  destitute  of 
meaning ;  but  now,  in  the  sober  twilight  of  declining  life,  I  find 
in  them  a  deep  and  supernal  meaning,  like  the  wild  words  of  one 
who  has  spoken  with  a  spirit.  And  thus  have  I  often  found  it, 
that  the  discoveries  of  the  intellect  are  comprehended  by  the 
reason,  the  creations  of  feeling  only  by  the  heart ;  and  that  the 
understanding  is  independent  on  circumstance ;  sensation  its 
slave.  Aristotle  is  penetrated  by  the  thinker  in  the  field  and  in 
the  closet ;  Plato's  reasoning  of  the  heart,  logic  of  the  fancy, 
woven  in  the  mystic  hour  of  nature's  ecstasy,  must  be  viewed 
from  the  same  moral  point  where  its  frame  stood.  Place  your 
self  on  the  lonely  promontory  of  Sunium  when  the  last  rays 
of  the  sun  are  gilding  with  a  melancholy  lustre  the  few  faint 
clouds  which  survive  his  race,  and  the  stillness  of  earth  is  like  the 
silence  of  Heaven,  and  gaze  upon  the  fathomless  sky  veiled  in  a 
faint  mist  of  light.  Then  will  thy  spirit  float  upward  to  the 
highest  heaven,  and  converse  face  to  face  with  his  ;  and  thy  soul 
shall  breathe  the  thoughts  which  are  as  pure,  as  subtle,  and  as 
lofty  '  as  the  ether  which  floats  around  the  throne  of  the  Al 
mighty.'  " 

"The  style  of  composition  in  these  epigrams,"  said  I,  "seems 


20.J  THE  GREEK   ANTHOLOGY.  311 

to  be  altogether  peculiar,  and  has  never  been  imitated,  perhaps 
could  not  be,  successfully,  in  any  modern  tongue.  They  are  the 
most  finished,  the  most  nicely  wrought,  the  most  strictly  class 
ical  of  all  the  classics." 

"They  have  a  simplicity  and  a  sincerity,"  replied  Mr.  Wood 
ward,  "which  no  later  writer  has  attempted  to  reproduce.  They 
are  impressive  from  their  composure ;  their  weight  arises  from 
their  reserve.  The  gayer  of  them  have  something  in  them  ex 
tremely  unmodern.  The  sensation  of  humor  appears  to  have  been 
unknown  to  the  Greeks ;  their  perceptions  and  tastes  were  too 
refined  for  so  gross  a  feeling,  for  a  gross  and  unworthy  one  I 
think — in  the  sense  in  which  I  use  it — it  commonly  is.  These 
compositions  are  purely  free  from  it,  and  yet  there  is  in  their 
cautious  avoidance  of  force,  their  naive  shrinking  from  eifect, 
something  more  diverting  than  real  humor.  In  modern  epigrams, 
the  last  line  is  the  one  on  which  the  poet  toils  ;  all  the  others  are 
prepared  for  it,  and  it  is  the  most  vigorous  and  highly  wrought. 
It  is  otherwise  here  ;  the  earlier  lines  are  melodious  and  spirited, 
the  last,  generally,  prosaic,  pedestrian  and  tame.  And  here  lies 
the  humor,  that  when  something  sonorous  and  decisive  is  ex 
pected,  the  matter  is  thrown  off  with  something  familiar  and 
almost  undignified  ;  the  effect  resembling  that  produced  when  a 
fool  in  the  old  English  drama,  having  fixed  attention,  and  raised 
expectation  by  promise  of  important  disclosures,  suddenly  blurts 
out  some  droll  truism  in  homely  prose  ;  or  when  a  clown,  having 
undertaken  to  jump  over  a  barrier,  gains  the  goal  by  quietly 
walking  under  it." 

"It  is  a  mournful  consideration,"  said  I,  "for  them  that  wish 
well  to  mankind,  to  reflect  how  much  of  the  wisdom  of  the  world 
lies  unemployed,  how  much  of  the  bullion  of  truth,  which  the 
sages  have  mined  from  knowledge,  and  stored  in  books,  lies  un 
coined  to  use,  how  rarely  from  the  conquered  provinces  of  intel 
lect,  captives  have  been  brought  home  to  men.  That  ancient 
fund  of  cumulative  truth,  which  we  call  'the  wisdom  of  ages,' 
whereof  the  materials  are  experience,  the  refiner  is  sagacity,  and 
the  result  is  gnomic  wisdom,  is  the  younger  world's  birth-right, 
and  it  has  been  voluntarily  renounced.  These  gems  have  been 


312  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.        [JET  AT.  20. 

dug  from  the  mine  to  be  buried  in  the  grave ;  they  have  been 
drawn  from  ignorance  to  be  entombed  in  forgetfulness.  The 
charts  are  all  before  his  eyes,  but  the  pilot,  though  inexperienced, 
never  consults  them.  And  the  philosophers  in  this  matter  are 
as  blameworthy  as  the  mob  at  large  ;  for  if  the  latter  have  disre 
garded  many  of  the  results  of  opinion,  the  former  have  neglected 
more  of  its  materials.  '  Multa  ignoramus,  qucv  non  laterent,  si 
veterum  lectio  nobis  esset  familiarise  For  in  dust-covered  vo 
lumes  of  the  old  speculative,  and  the  modern  skeptical  writers, 
there  lies  much  debased  wisdom  which  might  be  profitably  puri 
fied,  many  suggestive  glimpses  which  might  be  advantageously 
pursued,  much  broken  and  imperfect  truth  which  might  be  use 
fully  combined  and  completed.  These  men  standing  by  the  cir 
cumference,  though  the  position  were  a  false  one,  saw  and 
guessed  at  many  important  things  which  we  at  the  centre, 
though  it  be  the  vantage-ground,  might  never  think  of.  But 
the  world  is  both  an  unskilful  and  an  ungenerous  combatant ;  for, 
not  content  with  fairly  vanquishing  the  foe  in  the  field,  it  ex 
terminates  after  it  has  overthrown.  When  Christianity  had 
triumphed  in  argument  and  in  fact  over  the  ancient  pagans,  and 
the  later  infidels,  and  the  enemy  were  become  as  dead  men,  arms 
were  not  laid  down,  and  the  war  did  not  cease  :  and  none, 
whether  from  fear  or  hatred,  visited  the  hostile  camp  to  see  what 
treasures  might  be  found  there.  We  should  at  least  have  the 
Hebrew  sense  to  despoil  the  vanquished,  if  we  cannot  rise  to  the 
Alexandrian  wisdom  of  enlisting  them.  We  hew,  however,  the 
unburied  carcass  into  food  for  hounds,  and  break  the  tombs  of 
the  erring  prophets." 

"  The  course  you  hint  at,"  replied  Mr.  Woodward,  "  would  be 
wise  enough  for  philosophers,  but  'non  cuivis  contigit  adire 
Athenas.'  The  world  is,  for  itself,  perhaps,  not  foolishly  prudent ; 
for  it  is  the  nature  of  error  never  to  be  extinguished,  but  only 
to  be  smothered ;  and  if  the  damper  is  not  kept  closely  down 
the  flames  may  again  burst  forth,  or  at  least  the  ignorant  med 
dler  may  get  his  fingers  burnt  among  the  '  suppositos  cineres.' 
Beneficial  as  is  the  study  of  mere  morality,  I  think  it  had  better 
not  be  pursued  among  the  mere  moralists  of  anno  Ghristi  times. 


.  20.]  HEATHENISM  AND   INFIDELITY.  313 

But  no  such  objection  lies  to  Greek  and  Roman  ethicists,  and 
amongst  them  the  guides  in  this  important  path  would  be  more 
safely  sought.  For  morality,  as  distinguished  from  religion, 
may  be  defined  a  system  of  rules  for  the  conduct  of  men,  deduced 
by  human  wisdom  from  human  experience,  and  having  for  their 
object  and  sanction  the  well-being  of  men  in  the  present  world. 
Of  systems  of  morality  thus  founded  only  on  human  reason,  it 
might  at  once  be  anticipated  that  those  constructed  before  the 
revelation  of  Christianity  would  be  purer,  more  consistent  and 
entire  than  any  whose  growth  is  from  modern  wisdom, — distin 
guished  from  religion,  as  these  last  always  must  be,  and  opposed 
to  it,  as  they  too  often  are.  You  will  understand  me  when  I 
allude  to  Paley  on  the  one  hand,  and  Helvetius  and  Hume  on 
the  other.  The  former  took  his  conclusions  from  Scripture,  and 
tied,  not  grafted,  them  on  philosophy ;  and  in  many  instances, — 
as,  for  example,  his  chapter  on  The  Sabbath, — his  results,  though 
perhaps  just,  cannot  possibly  be  deduced  from  his  premises. 
The  latter  fare  still  more  unfortunately ;  for  in  their  anxiety  to 
avoid  the  appearance  of  borrowing  any  thing  from  Christianity, 
they  have  often  plucked  from  their  systems  what  was  the  legiti 
mate  growth  of  the  'human  mind  divine.'  In  resiling  from  the 
temple  of  revelation,  they  have  often  stumbled  by  the  pit  of 
error.  Many  a  fair  growth  of  the  soil  of  reason  is  torn  up  be 
cause  its  branches,  extending  into  the  territory  of  divinity,  it 
might  be  supposed  that  its  roots  had  derived  sustenance  there 
from.  Reason  thus  opposed  to  Christianity  is  maimed  of  its 
finest  limbs.  Such  was  not  the  position  of  the  ancients  ;  their 
morality  was  purer  morality  as  it  approached  the  doctrines  of 
the  Saviour.  Christianity,  like  a  vast  edifice,  has  covered  the 
whole  ground,  and  the  earth-born  plant  beneath  it  that  would 
seek  the  light,  must  twist  itself  into  unnatural  deformity;  the  old 
systems  grew  up  freely  and  unshadowed,  and  often  instinctively 
tended  toward  revelation,  as  certain  plants  by  nature  regard  the 
sun.  The  judgment,  too,  of  the  ancients  in  these  matters  was 
the  clearer  from  their  not  being  disturbed  by  contention,  nor  par 
alysed  by  doubt.  Never  checked  by  fear,  and  never  stung  by 
conscience, — serene  and  passionless,  the  mind  of  Cicero  was  con- 
27 


314  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.    [^ETAT.  20. 

sistent  and  wise ;  but  infidelity  had  wrought  in  the  breast  of 
Bolingbroke  a  storm,  an  anarchy  of  contending  emotions.  His 
understanding  is  always  turbulent  and  unsteady, — sometimes 
paralysed  by  instinctive  doubt,  and  sometimes  maddened  by  its 
unavailing  opposition.  He  has  granted  every  thing  ;  he  has  de 
nied  every  thing :  one  while  mocking  in  demoniac  defiance,  and 
anon  trembling  in  an  agony  of  fear.  The  burning  light  of  his 
powers,  unconcentrated  and  ineffectual,  was  scattered  by  the 
gusts  of  passion ;  the  fire  of  Cicero's  genius  was  a  calm  flame, 
that  reveals  little,  but  its  aspiration  is  to  heavenward." 

"Even  if  the  position  of  the  two  classes,"  said  I,  "in  regard 
of  opinion,  is  the  same,  their  relation  in  respect  of  feeling  is  dif 
ferent  :  like  that  of  the  ascending  and  descending  travellers  who 
meet  at  the  middle  of  Mont  Blanc.  Hume  distinguished  against 
Christianity,  and  Plato  built  towards  it:  their  station  is  the 
same,  their  view  opposite.  When  Bolingbroke  and  Atterbury 
met  at  Calais,  the  one  blessed  and  the  other  cursed  his  country." 

"  On  another  account,"  continued  Mr.  Woodward,  "the  perusal 
of  the  heathen  writers  on  ethics  is  more  beneficial  than  the  study 
of  contemporary  moralists.  I  mean  the  priority  of  the  former 
in  point  of  time  to  the  promulgation  of  revealed  truth.  The  im 
perfect  revelations  of  St.  John  the  Baptist  were  fit  preparations 
for  the  teachings  of  Christ ;  had  he  preached  the  same  defective 
doctrines  after  the  ascension,  they  had  been  mischievous,  as  cal 
culated  to  displace  the  other.  When  we  take  up  a  book  of 
recent  ethics,  we  expect  something  distinct  from  Christianity  and 
but  dubiously  consistent  with  it,  and  its  perusal  detaches  us,  and 
perhaps  aliens  us,  from  the  authority  of  Scripture :  but  we  lay 
down  our  Cicero  to  take  up  our  Bible,  and  pass  from  the  right- 
minded  inquirer  to  the  divine  demonstrator." 

"I  fully  agree  with  you,"  said  I,  "on  the  value  of  moral 
science  as  a  distinct  system,  and  in  the  preference  which  you 
assign  to  the  ancients.  I  neither  discern  the  wisdom  nor  re 
spect  the  prejudice  of  those  who;  like  the  monks  of  old,  would 
erase  the  memory  of  the  Latin  bards,  and  write  in  its  stead 
the  knowledge  of  its  own  more  sacred  dogmas.  To  imagine 
that  any  sane  man  will  rest  in  these  and  reject  Christianity  for 


.  20.]  HEATHENISM  AND  INFIDELITY.  315 

them,  were  as  vain  as  to  suppose  that  any  one  would  be  willing 
to  exclude  the  light  that  now  illuminates  the  world,  and  guide 
his  steps  by  the  rays  of  the  sun  of  some  other  system.  We  legis 
late  not  for  Bedlam  or  for  Norwich." 

"  One  of  the  objections,"  said  he,  "to  the  value  of  moral  rules 
is,  that  religion  is  a  principle  of  conduct,  that  precepts  have  lost 
authority,  and  that  obedience  to  them  may  even  be  injurious  as 
dethroning  the  principle.  How  this  argument  can  be  admitted 
while  the  ten  commandments  are  still  read  in  the  churches,  I  am 
at  a  loss  to  discover.  I  would  answer  it  by  saying  that  if  the 
precepts  raise  the  right  acts,  the  acts  will  draw  the  right  principle 
after  them.  Good  actions  create  good  principles,  far  more  cer 
tainly  than  good  principles  occasion  good  actions.  When  the 
heart  is  won  to  virtue,  and  seeks  to  perform  the  requisitions  of 
morality,  it  seeks  to  perform  them  on  Christian  grounds  and  for 
Christian  rewards.  He  that  is  pure  is  ready  to  be  pious." 

"Another  answer  to  the  objection,"  said  I,  "would  be  that 
precept  may  be  subsidiary  and  assistant  to  the  principle,  and 
even  in  many  parts  illustrative  of  it." 

"  In  all  parts  suggestive  of  it.  '  We  frequently  fall  into  error 
and  folly,' says  Johnson,  'not  because  the  true  principles  of 
action  are  not  known,  but  because  for  a  time  they  are  not  re 
membered;  and  he  may  therefore  be  justly  numbered  among  the 
benefactors  of  mankind,  who  contracts  the  great  rules  of  life  into 
short  sentences  that  may  be  easily  impressed  on  the  memory,  and 
taught  by  frequent  recollection  to  recur  habitually  to  the  mind.' 
Under  this  view,  I  should  be  glad  that,  for  the  attainment  of  that 
sort  of  conduct  which  lies  between  virtuous  and  prudential,  and 
is  at  once  a  duty  and  an  advantage,  the  classical  poets  were 
more  carefully  studied  in  youth  on  account  of  the  sententious 
wisdom  they  contain,  and  not  merely  as  grammatical  exercises, 
and  for  the  gratification  of  lettered  ostentation.  In  exquisite 
common  sense,  and  elegant  condensation  of  thought,  tne  Roman 
poets  have  found,  save  in  Pope,  no  imitator  among  us.  The 
light  that  irradiates  this  path  must  of  course  be  drawn  from 
human  sources,  for  its  object  is  to  encounter  vice  and  folly  with 
their  own  earth-weapons, — to  reason  down  the  sophistry  of  vice, 


316  TRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [JETAT.  20. 

to  ridicule  to  silence  the  giddy  mirth  of  folly.  Here  antiquity 
possessed  a  superiority  over  us.  For  this  knowledge  is  to  be 
drawn  from  what  Sir  Thomas  Browne  has  called  'that  universal 
and  public  manuscript  that  lies  open  to  the  eyes  of  all,' — the 
manuscript-book  of  nature  and  of  man  ;  '  and  surely,'  he  con 
tinues,  '  the  heathens  knew  better  how  to  join  and  read  these 
letters  than  we  Christians,  who  cast  a  more  careless  eye  on  these 
common  hieroglyphics,  and  disdain  to  suck  divinity  from  the 
flowers  of  nature,'  or  read  it  in  the  workings  of  the  heart  of  man. 
Those  instruments  of  worldly  sagacity  and  natural  penetration 
which  they  polished  till  they  became  at  once  beautiful  and 
piercing,  are  laid  by  in  our  temples,  to  rust  and  grow  dull  by 
disuse.  Certain  minor  virtues  there  are  which  Scripture  has 
not  descended  to  inculcate,  and  which  human  reason  must  be 
called  in  to  teach,  as  Diogenes  lighted  a  candle  at  mid-day  to 
discover  manliness.  It  is  true  that  patriotism  may  be  learned 
from  Christ's  weeping  over  Jerusalem,  and  friendship  inferred 
from  the  Saviour's  preference  for  St.  John.  But  to  feel  these  in 
their  strength  and  in  their  loveliness, — in  their  beauty  as  af 
fections,  and  their  power  as  duties, — we  must  listen  to  the  song 
of  the  ancient  minstrels.  A  single  line  from  Horace  will  urge 
millions  to  die  for  their  country,  and  another  of  Yirgil  will  bring 
a  tear  to  the  eye  of  the  far-wandering  patriot,  and  teach  him 
even  in  death  to  think  on  his  delightful  native  land." 

"The  objection,"  said  I,  "which  has  been  made  to  the  poets 
of  a  lighter  cast — ministers  of  pleasure — is  more  futile  than  all. 
Little  effect  can  they  have  upon  our  minds  ;  the  joyousness  of 
their  joy  has  long  been  turned  to  sadness,  and  the  wild  laugh  of 
gaiety  comes  to  our  ears  like  an  echo  hurled  back  in  mockery. 
Christianity,  if  it  has  not  altered  men's  minds,  has  changed  the 
whole  chord  of  men's  feelings  ;  the  commotions  of  nature  which 
attended  the  crucifixion  were  but  a  type  of  the  revulsions  that  were 
wrought  in  the  breast  of  universal  man.  The  motives  to  enjoy 
ment  adduced  by  all  their  poets  frighten  us  from  the  banquet. 
Drink  to-day — it  is  the  burden  of  all  their  festive  poetry ;  drink 
to-day,  for  to-morrow  we  are  not.  The  Christian,  like  the 
Pagan,  may  despise  death  ;  but  this  boldness  belongs  to  different 


20.]  HEATHENISM   AND  CATHOLICISM.  317 

occasions.  Their  genealogy  will  point  out  the  distinction.  The 
Pagan  indifference  is  the  offspring  of  ignorance  and  the  sister  of 
apathy.  The  Christian  fearlessness  is  the  daughter  of  Faith." 
"  Besides  the  loss  of  wisdom  and  knowledge,"  said  Mr.  Wood 
ward,  "  which  you  have  observed  that  we  incur  by  limiting  our 
selves  to  the  literature  of  our  own  religion,  the  injury  to  true 
feeling,  to  all  that  concerns  the  heart — is  vastly  greater.  Man, 
historically,  lives  in  fragments.  His  present  being  is  detached 
from  all  that  has  gone  before,  and  he  loses  the  experience  which 
centuries  of  curious  and  opposite  circumstance  might  give  him. 
As  Wordsworth  has  gone  back  to  the  darkling  aspiration  and 
boundless  conceptions  of  childhood,  and  found  therein  a  proof 
of  immortality,  so  would  I  go  back  to  the  infancy  of  man,  and 
trace  in  the  changes  thence  to  manhood  the  wideness  of  his  spirit 
from  the  many  phases  it  has  shown.  I  would  regard  the  mytho 
logy  of  those  times  as  past  away,  but  not  the  men  nor  their  re 
lation  to  that  mythology.  I  look  on  myself  as  a  moment  in  the 
existence  of  MAN,  and  regard  Paganism  as  one  of  the  views  which 
in  my  youth  /  took  of  nature.  And  the  rather  because  Heathen 
ism  and  Catholicism,  each  after  its  sort,  are  more  favorable  in 
the  view  they  take,  to  the  cherishment  and  growth  of  religious 
feeling,  than  Protestantism  and  our  times ;  and  I  am  unwilling 
to  lose  the  benefit  of  that  view,  but  would  revive  those  times 
within  me,  renew  the  old  mythology,  and  be  for  the  purpose  and 
the  nonce,  a  Heathen  and  a  Catholic.  By  every  class  of  the 
writings  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans  we  may  be  led  to  intimate 
knowledge  and  constant  acknowledgment  of  the  Creator  of  the 
earth — to  bow  to  God  manifest  in  the  world.  In  the  mistaken 
view  of  the  Protestant  Christian,  God  is  a  being  to  be  dreaded, 
and  to  be  worshipped  from  a  distance.  We  do  not  as  of  old  see 
about  us  a  thousand  tokens  of  his  power  and  goodness.  Herein 
may  we  be  well  taught  by  even  the  gayest  of  the  bards  of  Latium 
and  Cecropia,  to  feel  what  the  incarnation  of  the  Saviour  -must 
assuredly  have  been  intended  to  bring  about — a  communion  and 
a  fellowship  with  the  God  of  the  earth  which  we  inhabit.  The 
period  of  their  existence  was  more  favorable,  to  be  sure,  to  such 
feeling.  The  glimmering  starlight  of  antique  knowledge  shed 


318  FRAGMENT AL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [JExAT.  20. 

over  the  whole  face  of  nature  a  charm  and  a  significance  which 
the  penetrating  ray  of  meridian  light  has  dazzled  away  forever 
— a  rich  effulgence  on  the  foliage,  and  a  silver  veil  about  the 
mountain's  brow — a  faint  twinkling  on  every  brook,  and  over 
every  valley  a  mysterious  shadow — '  the  glory  and  the  freshness 
of  a  dream.'  That  has  become  science  which  was  once  devotion. 
They  enshrined  gods  for  every  function  and  every  attribute  of 
deity.  Their  mythology  was  the  outpouring  of  the  piety  of  the 
national  mind.  Their  Lares  and  Penates  were  so  many  mementos 
of  a  protecting  providence.  Their  Jupiter,  their  Minerva,  and 
their  Yenus,  were  but  avatars  of  the  power,  the  wisdom  and  the 
love  of  the  one,  felt,  but  unseen,  God.  There  was  in  every  heart 
an  altar  to  the  unknown  God,  but  they  externally  repressed 
this  by  these  various  representative  deities.  To  reproduce  this 
healthy  tone  of  feeling  among  the  nation  is  impossible  ;  but  for 
the  individual  the  effect  may  be  accomplished  by  contemplating 
in  a  right  spirit  the  effusions  of  the  ancient  muse.  Often  have 
I  in  the  still  solitude  of  my  nightly  musings  gone  back  in  ima 
gination —  and  never  without  benefit — to  these  long-distant 
times,  and  felt  through  the  feeling  of  another.  I  extend  the  same 
exercise  to  the  Catholic  religion  ;  for  it  was  admirably  adapted 
to  nurse  and  to  promote  the  warm,  the  tender,  the  delicious  feel 
ings  of  the  soul.  It  encouraged  worship  to  beings  less  awful,  less 
unapproachable  than  the  infinite  and  eternal  mystery  of  ages. 
The  men  associated  kindness  and  commiseration  with  the  mother 
of  Christ.  Females  hoped  for  sympathy  from  one  of  their  own 
sex,  and  felt  a  calm  reliance  upon  her  who  had  felt  the  storms 
of  temptation,  and  knew  when  and  how  best  to  administer  aid. 
The  circumstances  which  detach  us  from  our  connection  with  the 
Deity,  linked  them  the  more  closely.  The  Protestant,  when  he 
is  tossed  on  the  ocean  of  storms,  and  every  rising  wave  presses 
danger  on  his  life,  trembles  at  the  presence  of  the  God  of  the 
whole  earth :  the  Catholic  felt  the  arm  of  his  patron  Saint  up 
holding  him,  and  dreaded  no  ill.  When  the  face  of  nature  is 
changed  and  all  is  hushed  and  quiet  in  the  undisturbing  breath 
of  celestial  harmony ;  when  the  bright  moon  is  gilding  the 
vault  of  heaven,  and  enlightening,  calming  and  etherializing  the 


.  20.]  HEATHENISM   AND   CATHOLICISM.  319 

earth,  the  pietist  now  is  mute  in  wonder  at  the  awful  stillness  of 
Almighty  power ;  and  the  fair  land,  encircled  by  the  arms,  and 
reposing  in  the  bosom,  of  the  sea — bright  but  inanimate — the 
heavens  and  the  waters  holding  communion  in  the  mystic  lan 
guage  of  light,  all  seem  to  tell  him  that  he  is  deserted,  and 
alone.  In  times  more  distant,  the  mariner  was  charmed  by  such 
a  scene  ;  and  as  he  reclined  in  his  little  bark — extending  with 
one  hand  his  spotless  canvas,  his  other  upon  the  rudder — he 
gazed  upon  the  silent  moon,  in  her  mild  majesty  presiding,  and 
breathed  out  in  accents  of  fervent  devotion, 

0  Sanctissima  !     0  purissima ! 
Dulcis  virgo  Maria ! 

These  may  have  been  fancies,  but  they  were  not  'fancies  that  our 
reason  scorns ;'  for  whatever  tends  to  keep  alive  holy  and  ele 
vated  love,  to  raise  the  affections  and  build  attachments  in  the 
heavens,  and  to  keep  the  heart  open  amidst  the  contracting  cares 
of  life — be  it  fact  or  fiction — should  ever  be  welcome  to  the  phi 
losophic  mind.  All  feeling  is  founded  on  fancy,  and  most  fancy 
on  falsehood." 

"  Such  a  practice,"  said  I,  "  as  you  allude  to  would  require  to 
be  undertaken  with  great  caution,  and  pursued  with  great  mode 
ration.  Sharon  Turner  has  spoken  of  '  the  multiplicity  of  error 
which  generally  follows  the  desertion  of  the  simple  truth ;'  and 
for  the  million  that  result  is  certain." 

"  Many  evils  arise,"  said  Mr.  Woodward,  "  from  applying  to 
the  general,  judgments  derived  from  particulars ;  but  the  converse 
process  occasions  more.  Studious  and  original  men  forfeit  many 
advantages  they  might  safely  enjoy,  by  making  universal  fitness 
the  test  of  the  measures  they  devise  for  themselves,  and  by  not 
limiting  their  theoretical  schemes  by  '  the  constant  reference  to 
convenience  and  practice.'  What  I  have  alluded  to  is  certainly 
dangerous,  and  might  be  fatal,  to  the  rectitude  of  a  community ; 
but  that  is  no  reason  why  you  and  I  may  not  amuse  our  intel 
lects  and  train  our  feelings  in  the  fields  of  fancy.  The  world 
and  I  have  long  since  dropped  the  slight  acquaintance  which 
we  ever  had  together.  The  more  I  look  within,  the  more  I  am 


320  FRAG  MENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [^TAT.  20. 

convinced  that  I  am  unfit  for  it ;  the  more  I  look  without,  the 
more  fervently  do  I  say  within  myself,  '  Sit  mea  anima  cum  phi- 
losophis  /' " 

"  You  are  not  one  of  those,  then,  who  look  with  favor  on  the 
direction  which  mind  and  mental  culture  are  taking  in  our  days  ?" 

"The  modern  system  of  things,"  he  replied,  "neither  com 
mands  my  respect  nor  wins  my  sympathy.  This  insane  craving 
after '  knowledge,'  this  diseased  exaggeration  of  the  value  of  facts, 
and  this  ruinous  mistake  of  believing  information  to  be  education, 
and  of  scrupulously  separating  from  public  instruction  the  only 
essential  things,  the  principles  of  religion  and  the  rules  of  duty ; 
this  disgusting  flattery  and  stimulation  of  the  mob ;  this  admission 
of  the  worthless  and  scorn-compelling  rabble  to  the  decision  of 
questions  which  they  can  never  comprehend ;  this  breaking  of 
principles  over  the  back  of  majorities ;  this  utter  neglect  of  all 
that  improves  and  elevates  man,  of  all  that  is  honorable  in  con 
duct,  ennobling  in  wisdom,  important  in  politics,  and  indispen 
sable  in  religion — offend  alike  my  reason  and  my  taste,  and  move 
me,  I  confess,  to  a  warmer  contempt  than  wholly  consists  with 
the  coolness  of  contemplation.  '  Quod  magis  ad  nos  pertinet, 
et  nescire  malum  est  agitamus,'  should  be  the  motto  of  popular 
educationists.  I  concede  fully  the  importance  of  scientific  and 
mechanical  knowledge  in  their  own  place  and  degree ;  but  to 
feed  with  such  husks  a  country  demanding  sound  food,  is  fatal  in 
its  folly,  and  outrageous  in  its  absurdity.  It  is  not  thus  that  na 
tions  are  generated.  There  goes  more  than  this  to  the  making 
of  a  virtuous  people  arid  a  wise  community.  A  people  rising  to 
a  sense  of  their  responsibilities  ask  for  light  on  the  vital  subjects 
of  truth  and  action,  and  are  furnished  with  treatises  on  galvanism 
and  hydro -dynamics  !  They  ask  for  counsel  in  the  distractions 
and  doubts  of  political  commotion,  and  are  furnished  with  '  pa 
triotic'  lives  of  the  hireling  traitor  Sydney  and  the  selfish  con 
spirator  Hampden.  They  are  laboriously  inducted  into  the 
regions  of  'pure  mathematics  !'  and  gratefully  entertained  with 
'  familiar  accounts  of  Newton's  Principia  !'  Every  man  is  made 
capable  of  dyeing  his  own  coat  and  assaying  his  pocket-pieces, 
but  not  a  solitary  step  is  made  towards  the  completion  of  that 


.  20.]  POPULAR  EDUCATION.  321 

line  whereby  Plato  has  traced  with  golden  pencil  the  image  of 
a  pefect  man,  '  to  know  what  should  be  done  and  said  to  God 
and  man.'  For  my  part,  I  admit  the  test  of  utility  in  every  con 
sideration  ;  I  ask  of  every  thing,  cui  pono  ?  And  I  ask  it  of 
Lord  Brougham's  efforts  and  publications.  Do  they  tend  to 
make  us  better,  wiser,  happier  ?  If  they  do  none  of  these,  let 
us  at  once  tear  from  them  the  lying  title  of  'useful  knowledge,' 
and  no  longer  deem  those  benefactors  of  their  race  who  amuse 
themselves  by  angling  for  popularity  with  saw-dust  bread." 

"  'Nee  me  solum  ratio  et  disputatio  impulit  ut  ita  crederem  ; 
sed  nobilitas  etiam  summorum  philosophorum  et  auctoritas.' 
The  straightest  thinker  among  the  Latin  fathers  has  written 
wisely  upon  this  point:  'nee  tarn  de  rebus  humanis,1  says  Lac- 
tantius,  '  bene  meretur,  qui  scientiam  bene  dicendi  affert,  quam 
qui  pie,  atque  innocenter  docet  vivere.  Idcirco  majore  in  gloria 
philosophi  quam  oratores  fuerunt  apud  Grcecos.  Illi  enim 
recte  vivendi  doctores  sunt  existimati,  quod  est  longe  prcesta- 
bilius :  quoniam  bene  dicere  ad  paucos  pertinet,  bene  autem 
vivere,  ad  omnes  ;'  a  sentiment  of  memorable  truth,  which  John 
son  has  closely  copied  where  he  says, '  Prudence  and  Justice  are 
virtues  and  excellences  of  all  times  and  of  all  places  :  we  are  per 
petually  moralists,  but  we  are  geometricians  only  by  chance ;' 
and  which  he  may  have  had  in  his  mind  when  he  elsewhere 
wrote :  '  if,  instead  of  wandering  after  the  meteors  of  philosophy, 
which  fill  the  world  with  splendor  for  a  while,  and  then  sink  and 
are  forgotten,  the  candidates  of  learning  fixed  their  eyes  upon 
the  permanent  lustre  of  moral  and  religious  truth,  they  would 
find  a  more  certain  direction  to  happiness.  A  little  plausibility 
of  discourse,  and  acquaintance  with  unnecessary  speculations, 
is  dearly  purchased,  when  it  excludes  those  instructions  which 
fortify  the  heart  with  resolution  and  exalt  the  spirit  to  inde 
pendence.'  What  shall  I  say  more,  or  what  can  I  say  better? 
But  besides  objecting  to  the  sort  of  knowledge  which  they  are 
now  disseminating,  I  have  little  relish  for  the  object  itself  under 
its  best  form.  You  and  I,  Sir,  have,  'like  all  men  of  sense,'  as 
Dr.  Parr  would  say,  our  own  notions  of  all  this  '  new  conquering 
empire  of  light  and  reason,'  and  of  this  whole  affair  of  popular 


322  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [^!TAT.  20. 

instruction,  and  national  regeneration,  however  we  may  deem  it 
prudent  to  mask  our  private  sentiments.  I  remember,  however, 
a  notion  of  Taylor,  the  Platonist,  upon  this  point,  which  has 
often  diverted  me  by  its  violence,  while  it  has  gratified  me  b^ 
its  justness.  In  every  class  of  beings  in  the  universe,  says  that 
eccentric  f  rater  Platonicoe  familioe,  there  is  a  first,  a  middle,  and 
a  last,  in  order  that  the  progression  of  things  may  form  one  un 
broken  chain,  originating  from  deity,  and  terminating  in  matter. 
In  consequence  of  this  connection,  one  part  of  the  human  species 
naturally  coalesces,  through  transcendency,  with  beings  of  an 
order  superior  to  man  ;  another  part,  through  diminution,  unites 
with  the  brutal  species ;  and  a  third  part,  which  subsists  as  the 
connecting  medium  between  the  other  two,  possesses  those  pro 
perties  which  characterize  human  nature  in  a  manner  not  exceed 
ing  but  exactly  commensurate  to  the  condition  of  humanity.  The 
first  of  these  parts,  from  its  surpassing  excellence,  consists  of  a 
small  number  of  mankind.  That  which  subsists  as  the  middle  is 
numerous — but  that  which  ranks  as  the  last  in  gradation,  is  corn- 
posed  of  a  countless  multitude.  In  consequence  of  this  beautiful 
gradation,  the  most  subordinate  part  of  mankind  are  only  to  be 
benefitted  by  good  rulers,  laws,  and  customs,  through  which 
they  become  peaceable  members  of  the  communities  in  which 
they  live,  and  make  a  proficiency,  as  Maximus  Tyrius  observes, 
not  by  any  accession  of  good,  but  by  a  diminution  of  evil. 
Hence,  the  present  efforts  to  enlighten  by  education  the  lowest 
class  of  mankind,  is  an  attempt  to  break  the  golden  chain  of 
beings,  to  disorganize  society,  and  to  render  the  vulgar  dissa 
tisfied  with  the  servile  situation  in  which  God  and  nature  in 
tended  them  to  be  placed.  In  short,  it  is  an  attempt  calculated 
to  render  life  intolerable,  and  knowledge  contemptible,  to  sub 
vert  all  order,  introduce  anarchy,  render  superstition  triumphant, 
and  restore  the  throne  of  'night  primeval  and  of  chaos  old.1 
Taylor  was  a  man  too  thoughtful  to  be  disturbed  by  passion, 
and  too  independent  to  be  warped  by  interest.  Such  a  strong 
expression  of  opinion,  though  the  thought  be  woven  in  the  loom 
of  a  false  philosophy,  coming  deliberately  from  such  a  man, 


20.]      MORAL  AND  INTELLECTUAL  TRAINING.  323 

would  at  least  make  me  suspect  that  the  inevitable  benefit  of 
such  institutions  was,  after  all,  not  quite  so  clear." 

"How  do  you  account,"  said  I,  "for  the  fact,  which  seems  to 
be  undeniable,  for  it  is  the  matter  of  statistical  evidence,  that  an 
increase  of  crime  has  attended  the  increase  of  knowledge  ?  I 
admit,  to  be  sure,  that  Bacon's  maxim  is  both  morally  and  physi 
cally  true,  but  true  on  the  one  part  with  entire  distinction  from 
the  other ;  and  I  am  at  a  loss  to  conceive  how  physical  know 
ledge  should  be  an  engine  of  moral  power.  I  can  well  under 
stand  that  a  knowledge  of  the  comparative  merits  of  the  two 
theories  of  electricity  is  utterly  valueless  to  the  peasant  at  his 
plough-tail,  but  am  unable  to  apprehend  how  it  should  do  him 
any  harm.  It  is  at  the  worst  merely  useless." 

"I  can  very  easily  comprehend,"  replied  Mr.  Woodward, 
"  how  the  study  of  such  things  should  work  all  the  evil  which  it 
has  done.  Before  the  dissemination  of  cheap  magazines  and 
cyclopaedias,  the  peasant,  when  his  work  was  done,  drew  his  chair 
into  the  chimney-corner  at  evening,  and  sat  down  to  muse  in 
quiet.  In  those  moments  of  natural  meditation,  the  drama  of 
his  days  past  slowly  through  his  mind,  and  conscience  gave  her 
involuntary  judgment.  The  acts  of  the  concluded  day,  the  enter 
prises  of  the  coming  morrow,  were  instinctively  marshalled  in 
review,  and  their  true  worth  and  character  were  tried  by  the 
wisdom  of  calmness.  In  the  interval  memory  suggested  the 
wholesome  cautions  of  the  parish  preacher,  the  long-neglected 
counsels  of  the  anxious  mother,  the  good  resolutions  which  suf 
fering  had  made  and  safety  had  recanted ;  fancy,  at  her  ease,  re 
vived  the  scenes  of  boyhood's  reproving  purity  and  envied  peace, 
and  the  instructive  incidents  of  another's  fate  and  of  his  own 
escapes,  or,  wandering  to  a  wider  verge,  painted  in  homely  but 
impressive  tints  the  sad  but  salutary  picture  .of  '  the  hour  of 
death,  and  the  day  of  judgment.'  Silence  made  gently  audible 
that  whispering  oracle,  the  human  heart.  Ignorance  left  him 
'  leisure  to  be  good. '  The  guide  and  witness  were  kept  alike 
within  his  breast.  But  now,  when  the  fresh  number  of  the  at 
tractive  weekly  presents  its  fascinating  pages,  endorsed  by  high 
and  stimulating  names,  every  fragment  of  unoccupied  time  is 


324  FRAG  MENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [^TAT.  20. 

given  to  the  high-wrought  description  and  the  animated  criti 
cism  ;  not  a  moment  is  left  for  self-communion  and  inward  ex 
amination.  His  quiet  hours  are  gone  from  him.  The  inob- 
trusive  visits  of  reflection  are  shut  out,  and  scared  away :  he  is 
too  busy  to  think,  too  excited  to  feel.  In  this  single  result  of 
the  absorption  of  leisure,  and  the  consequent  removal  of  one  great 
barrier  to  sin,' — himself — I  find  an  ample  resolution  of  the  diffi 
culty.  You  may  add  to  it,  however,  the  restless  and  discon 
tented  humor  which  imperfect  knowledge  occasions  ;  the  rivalry 
of  contempt  or  envy  which  it  gives  rise  to  ;  the  shade  and  infe 
riority  which  it  casts  on  the  tame  and  unambitious  scheme  of 
duty ;  and,  above  all,  the  brilliant  objects  with  which  it  fills  the 
fancy,  as  food  for  meditation,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  events  and 
interests  of  domestic  life,  and  the  general  predominance  which 
it  gives  in  the  thoughts  to  the  public  distant  over  the  private 
past." 

"It  would  be  an  interesting  exercise,"  said  I,  "to  estimate 
accurately  the  comparative  benefits  and  evils  which  learning  has 
produced  in  all  the  stages  of  its  history.  The  result  to  nations 
seems  always  to  have  been  good,  but  the  effect  on  individuals 
has  sometimes  been  woefully  different.  Among  the  heroes  of 
letters  are  to  be  found  some  of  the  vilest  monsters  of  degraded 
vice." 

"  That  has  always  struck  me  as  a  most  curious  circumstance. 
It  is  certainly  true  that  both  students  and  authors  have,  in  nume 
rous  cases,  exhibited  an  enormity  of  private  flagitiousness  to 
which  the  vulgar  have  been  incapable  of  rising ;  and,  as  respects 
the  former,  I  can  but  imperfectly  account  for  the  fact.  I  can 
only  explain  the  measureless  depravity  of  such  a  man  as  Cardan 
by  supposing  that  he  was  naturally  a  man  of  strong  passions,  and 
that  his  earnest  and  absorbing  devotion  to  mathematical  and 
other  studies  led  him  to  deem  the  external  objects  of  acquisition 
and  reputation  the  only  important  concerns,  to  the  neglect  of 
the  culture  of  his  moral  nature  ;  that  while  he  thus  looked  abroad, 
and  forgot  that  watchful  training  of  the  feelings  which  common 
men  almost  instinctively  keep  up,  and  even  that  knowledge  of  the 
insidiousncss  of  the  ways  of  temptation,  which  is  their  best  op- 


^!TAT.  20.]  AUTHOESHIP  AS  A  PURSUIT.  325 

poser,  his  passions  grew  up  to  fiend-like  magnitude  and  violence 
ere  their  master  was  aware  of  the  danger.  Ambitious  men  soon 
learn  to  sacrifice  every  thing,  even  soul  and  body,  to  the  gain  of 
a  favorite  end ;  but  ambitious  men  of  action  have  a  constant 
check  upon  their  savage  humors  in  that  practised  coolness  which 
their  schemes  demand ;  the  poor  student  is  left  the  defenceless 
quarry  of  the  vulture-beaks  of  passion.  That  creative  authors 
should  be, — as  they  almost  always  have  been, — men  of  bad  dis 
positions,  and  uninfluenced  by  the  touching  sentiments  of  which 
they  have  been  the  unabsorbing  reflectors,  I  can  more  readily 
account  for.  An  ordinary  man  notes  his  impressions  to  enlighten 
his  experience ;  and  makes  remorse  and  self-satisfaction  the 
beacon  and  guide  of  his  conduct.  A  poet  observes  his  feelings 
only  to  portray  them  ;  treasures  up  every  twinge  of  conscience, 
not  to  reform  his  conduct  or  rectify  his  principles,  but  to  point 
a  couplet  for  the  illustration  of  a  Giaour ;  he  meditates  on  the 
twilight  religion  of  nature's  most  religious  hour,  only  to  weave 
from  it  a  white  square  in  the  chequered  tissue  of  a  Bon  Juan. 
A  poet  soon  unappropriates  and  unrealizes  his  griefs  and  his  joys, 
transporting  them  to  that  ideal  region  where  fancy  decks  them 
with  foreign  beauty.  He  studies  vice  and  virtue  for  their  fine 
contrasts,  a  death-bed  scene  for  its  grouping,  and  a  startling 
warning  or  an  awful  denunciation  for  its  effect.  Others  con 
template  the  gladness  of  the  morning  sun,  or  the  unworthiness  of 
late  repose,  to  emulate  or  avoid ;  Thomson  studied  them  that  he 
might  describe  them.  I  was  not  surprised,  therefore,  to  find  Words 
worth,  when  I  met  him,  cold,  contemptuous,  and  self-esteeming ; 
nor  to  find  Southey  and  Landor  a  couple  of  ferocious  egotists. 
In  the  channel  of  the  stream  there  blooms  no  verdure ;  it  is  the 
incumbent  bank  only  that  is  vivified  and  refreshed.  The  sexton 
goes  into  the  church  only  to  arrange  it  for  others." 

"The  position  of  susceptible  authors  is  a  most  unfortunate 
one,"  said  I ;  "  for  unless  they  are  dowered  by  nature  with  un 
usual  generosity  of  temper  and  a  fund  of  great  good  sense,  like 
Walter  Scott,  their  feelings  will  make  them  unhappy,  and  the 
struggles  of  their  unhappiness  will  make  them  vicious." 

"You  say  true,"  replied  Mr.  Woodward  ;  "  authorship  is  the 
28 


326  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [.&TAT.  20. 

most  hapless  trade  that  has  yet  been  invented.  Doubtless  it  is 
a  noble  thing  when  the  poet's  soul,  expanding  through  futurity, 
is  conscious  of  immortality,  and  can  exclaim  '  Nomen  erit  in- 
delibile  nostrum.'  But  there  is  no  sort  of  venture  in  which  the 
unavoidable  risk  is  so  great  and  the  possible  gain  is  so  little ; 
even  in  the  highest  success  the  loss  is  greater  than  the  acqui 
sition,  and  in  ordinary  cases  the  contest  is  against  fearful  odds. 
To  write  for  one's  livelihood, — to  stimulate  the  weary  and  over 
tasked  mind  at  the  call  of  necessity, — to  execute  from  dull  com 
pulsion  the  treasured  dreams  and  hoarded  schemes  of  a  literary 
youth, — to  be  obliged  to  think,  and  necessitated  to  imagine, — is 
a  misery  which,  perhaps,  more  strongly  than  any  other,  deserves 
the  name  of  agony.  And  when  we  look  at  the  career  of  the 
most  fortunate  writer,  and  consider  the  trials  and  doubts  and 
strivings  which  harassed  his  existence,  and  then  remember  how 
little  of  the  final  admiration  reached  him  personally, — as  in  a 
triumph  the  hero  who  rode  in  the  van  saw  but  a  small  part  of 
the  crowd  which  followed, — we  may  well  conclude  with  the  re 
flection  of  La  Beaumelle  in  a  letter  to  Yoltaire,  '  La  plus  bril- 
lante  reputation  ne  vaut  jamais  ce  qu'  elle  coute.'  In  the  case 
of  a  great  poet,  the  sensibility  which  he  pictures  excites  and 
wears  his  own ;  and  while  physically  he  is  surrounded  with  en 
joyments,  his  consciousness  is  with  his  imagination,  and  that  is 
in  the  scenes  of  suffering.  When  Byron  threw  himself  into  the 
situation  of  his  Giaour,  he  created  in  himself  all  the  miserable 
passions  which  he  described.  As  a  writer  his  success  was  great ; 
but  surely  that  man's  sacrifice  to  fame  was  the  most  awful  that 
ever  was  made — his  own  heart." 

"But  do  you  not  think,"  said  I,  "that  many  of  the  evils  of 
which  you  have  spoken  are  shared  proportionately  by  all  men  of 
letters — by  the  student,  I  mean,  as  well  as  by  the  author — and 
that  more  happiness  is  to  be  found  in  energy  and  enterprise  ?" 

"  In  spite  of  the  dictum  of  Jean  Jacques,  '  L'homme  n'est 
point  fait  pour  mediter  mais  pour  agir^  I  think,"  said  Mr. 
Woodward,  "that  the  miseries  of  a  life  of  action  are  far  greater 
than  those  of  a  life  of  reflection  ;  observe,  I  do  not  say  authorship, 
for  that  has  the  toil  of  action  without  its  rewards,  and  the  gloom 


.  20.]  MEDITATION  AND  ACTION.  32f 

of  meditation  without  its  repose.  Notwithstanding  the  extra 
ordinary  honors  which  fell  upon  Demosthenes  and  Cicero — 
honors,  prompt,  palpable,  and  abiding — both  of  them  in  the 
zenith  of  their  glories  recorded  their  deliberate  regret  that  they 
had  ever  entered  on  the  field  of  ambition.  We  are  told  by  Mr. 
Bushell,  one  of  Lord  Bacon's  servants,  that  when  the  king  had 
dissolved  Parliament  without  restoring  '  that  matchless  lord'  to 
his  place,  this  made  him  then  to  wish  that  the  many  years  which 
he  had  spent  in  state  policy  and  law  study,  had  been  wholly  de 
voted  to  true  philosophy,  'for  the  one,  said  he,  at  best  doth 
both  comprehend  man's  frailty  in  its  greatest  splendor,  but  the 
other  embraceth  the  mysterious  knowledge  of  all  things  created 
in  the  six  days'  work.'  Many  a  monarch,  I  suspect,  has  felt  as 
Cromwell  expressed  himself  in  one  of  his  speeches,  with  tears  too 
deep  for  insincerity ;  '  I  can  say  in  the  presence  of  God,  in  com 
parison  of  whom  we  are  but  like  poor  creeping  ants  upon  the 
earth,  I  would  have  been  glad  to  have  lived  under  my  wood-side, 
to  have  kept  a  flock  of  sheep,  rather  than  have  undertook  such 
a  government  as  this.'  And  many  an  ambitious  statesman  has 
exclaimed  on  his  death-bed,  like  Amboise,  the  Cardinal-minister 
of  Louis  the  Twelfth,  '  Ah !  Friar  John,  Friar  John !  Why 
was  I  not  always  Friar  John  I'  Let  the  triumph  be  as  boundless 
as  it  may,  it  shall  never  fill  the  meanest  craving  of  the  aspiring 
heart." 

"  But  we  must  not,"  said  I,  "  in  viewing  one  side  of  the  com 
parison,  forget  the  darkness  of  the  other.  Solitude  and  medi 
tation  encourage  vast  longings  and  bring  nothing  to  satisfy  them. 
You  remember  the  remark  of  Ximenes  to  Ferdinand  when  a  riot 
occurred  during  the  king's  visit  to  his  college,  '  that  study  and 
studious  discipline  were  as  little  exempt  as  ambition  and  worldly 
affairs  from  the  influence  of  passion.'  " 

"  Doubtless  an  unhappy  temper  will  find  '  some  grudging, 
some  complaint,'  in  the  calmest  joy  and  the  serenest  pleasure. 
And  doubtless  there  is  many  a  cloud  overcasts  the  contentment 
of  the  scholar ;  yet  in  all  the  chances  of  fortune  and  the  changes 
of  mood  he  still  has  ever  near  him  the  pearl  of  quiet — a  treasure 
which  Xewton  truly  estimated  when  he  spoke  of  it  as  'rem 


328  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     |>ETAT.  20. 

prorsus  substantialem?  and  to  which  I  would  apply  what  Cicero 
has  said  of  Philosophy,  '  qua  nihil  a  Dis  immortalibus  uberius, 
nihil  florentius,  nihil  prcestabilius  hominum  vitce  datum  est.' 
When  the  fancy,  weary  of  building  gilded  domes  of  clay,  and 
of  picturing  bright  tarrying-places  and  inns  of  Mortality,  floats 
away  upon  freshening  pinions  to  the  soul's  future  home,  and 
calls  before  'the  inward  eye,'  that  blessed  spot  which  we  term 
heaven,  the  element  which  casts  enchantment  over  the  longed-for 
resting-place  is — Peace.  That  is  a  possession  so  estimable  that 
I  can  forgive  the  sentiment  of  Erasmus,  in  that  letter  wherein  he 
so  triumphantly  vindicates  his  own  career,  that  quiet  error  is 
better  than  tempestuous  truth,  while  I  cordially  adopt  the  ex 
clamation  of  the  noble-hearted  Barneveldt  to  Gomar,  '  Truth 
above  all  things  !  but  Peace  next.'  The  scholar,  and  only  he, 
enjoys  this  boon  on  earth.  To  him  only  is  given  the  precious 
offspring  of  silent  thought — self-knowledge;  for  the  man  of 
action,  whose  spirit  is  absorbed  by  that  which  is  without,  has 
never  an  opportunity  to  look  within,  and  when  thrown  upon 
himself  in  the  latest  hour  of  human  weakness,  converses  darkly 
with  a  strange  and  frowning  fellow ; 

Illi  mors  gravis  incubat 
Qui,  notus  nimis  omnibus, 
Ignptus  moritur  ^ibi. 

Such  men  make  acquaintance  with  all  things  save  that  which 
alone  shall  be  their  companion  through  eternity.  But  to  the 
man  of  reflection  it  is  given  to  ponder  calmly  the  sky  and  the 
earth  and  the  nature  of  all  things,  and  to  unsphere  the  soul 
which  abides  in  the  universe  and  to  commune  with  it,  and  to 
know  whence  and  why  the  world  arose,  and  whither  and  how  it 
will  pass  away,  and  to  apprehend  what  in  it  is  mortal  and  tran 
sitory,  what  divine  and  eternal,  and  to  feel  himself  a  member  of 
the  universe  as  if  it  were  a  city ;  'in  hac  ille  magnificentia  rerum, 
atque  in  hoc  conspectu  et  cognitione  naturae,  Di  immortales ! 
quam  ipse  se  noscet !  quam  contemnet,  quam  despiciet,  quam  pro 
nihilo  putabit  ea,  quoe  volgo  ducuntur  amplissima  P  It  was  in 
view  of  an  elevation  of  heart  like  this,  that  the  Italian  had  graved 
upon  his  tomb,  as  a  legacy  of  admonition  to  mankind, 


JETAT.   20.]  MEDITATION  AND   ACTION.  329 

Scis  quis  sim,  aut  potius  quis  fuerim, 

Ego  vero  te,  hospcs !  noscere  in  tencbris  nequeo ; 

Sed  teipsum  ut  noscas,  rogo.     Vale." 

"But  is  it  not,"  said  I,  "both  incumbent  as  a  duty,  and  wise 
as  an  advantage,  that  those  who  have  light  should  show  it  to 
the  world  ?  Is  it  not  a  useful  and  a  holy  work  to  instruct  and 
reform  mankind  by  argument  and  exhortation  f" 

"Sir,"  replied  my  companion,  with  a  melancholy  smile,  "to 
improve  mankind  is  hopeless.  I  had  thought  once  that  I  might 
be  a  benefactor  of  my  race  in  some  degree  and  kind,  however 
small ;  but  failure  brought  a  juster  knowledge.  I  looked  for  the 
results  of  my  efforts,  and  lo  !  there  were  none,  save  other  than  I 
wished  upon  the  actor ;  for  while  men  grew  no  better  for  my 
toils,  I  grew  worse  from  their  unsuccess,  till  fretted  by  failure 
and  contaminated  by  admixture,  I  retired  from  the  contest  to 
repair  what  I  had  lost.  When  with  a  polished  blade  you  would 
shape  blocks,  the  blade  it  is  which  suffers.  No  !  man  is  inca 
pable  of  improvement :  or,  if  capable,  to  how  small  a  degree 
compared  with  perfection  I  Refine  the  understanding  and  im 
prove  the  heart  to  their  highest  elevation  of  strength  and  purity, 
how  infinitely  yet  does  it  fall  short  of  what  man  must  be  to  make 
the  labor  useful !  I  therefore  draw  apart,  and  wait  the  issue  of 
Almighty  wisdom.  When  He  chooses,  his  is  the  hand  and  his 
alone  that  can  erect  mortality. 

In  the  unreasoning  progress  of  the  world 
A  wiser  spirit  is  at  work  for  us, 
A  better  eye  than  ours. 

Labor  is  not  always  blessed,  nor  is  idleness  always  unprofitable. 

God  doth  not  need 

Either  man's  work,  or  his  own  gifts ;  who  best 
Bear  his  mild  yoke,  they  serve  him  best.     His  state 
Is  kingly  :  thousands  at  his  bidding  speed, 
And  post  o'er  land  and  ocean  without  rest : 
They  also  serve,  who  only  stand  and  wait. 

Knowing  then  how  little  I  can  do  for  others,  and  how  much  I 
must  do  for  myself,  I  say  in  the  beautiful  words  of  Amalthseus, 

28* 


330  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.    [2ETAT.  20. 

Percurrant  <alii  sinuosis  sequora  velis, 

Eooque  legant  ardentes  littore  gemmas; 

Ipse,  nisi  attonitae  mihi  sit  mens  conscia  delhse, 

Intra  naturae  fines  rcgnare  beatus 

Dicar,  et  insanis  animum  subducere  curis ; 

and  inscribe,  with  Bolingbroke,  over  my  door,  '  Hie,  alienos 
casus  et  fortunes  ludum  insolentem  cernere  suave  est.  Hie, 
mortem  nee  appetens  nee  timens,  innocuis  deliciis,  docta  quiete, 
et  felicis  animi  immota  tranquillitate  fruiscar.  Hie,  mihi 
vivam,  quod  superest,  aut  cevi  aut  exiliV  " 

"  And  you  are  happy  in  your  philosophic  solitude  ?"  said  I, 
rising  to  leave  him. 

"I  may  say  with  Burke  that  'I  would  not  exchange  it  for 
what  kings  in  their  profusion  can  bestow.'  " 

"  I  will  leave  you  then  in  the  company  you  love.  Good 
morning." 

"  Good  morning,"  said  Mr.  Woodward.  "Pray,  Sir,  come  and 
see  me  soon  again." 


A  DIALOGUE   IN   TRAVELLING, 

Reflections  as  to  the  influence  which  is  from  above,  and  which  is  perceived 
by  the  faculties  of  the  soul,  rather  than  by  those  of  the  understanding — Re 
marks  in  this  connection  upon  Coleridge,  Davy,  Southey,  "Wordsworth. 

"Each  with  the  other  pleased,  we  now  pursued 
Our  journey  beneath  favorable  skies. 
Up  through  an  ample  vale,  with  higher  hills 
Before  us,  mountains  stern  and  desolate; 
But  in  the  majesty  of  distance,  now 
Set  off,  and  to  our  ken  appearing  fair 
Of  aspect,  with  aerial  vesture  clad, 
And  beautified  with  morning's  purple  rays." — WORDSWORTH. 

IT  was  early  on  a  beautiful  morning  of  the  summer,  that,  along 
with  my  friends  Robert  Herbert  and  Henry  Thompson,  I  left  the 
village  of  Derwent-Water  for  a  tour  on  foot  among  the  beautiful 
hills  and  lakes  of  Cumberland.  The  gladness  of  the  vigorous 
morning  was  yet  upon  us,  as  we  set  off,  after  breakfasting  at  a 
small  inn,  about  four  miles  from  the  town.  We  had  walked  thus 


,£TAT.  20.]  REFLECTIONS   UPON  NATURE.  331 

far  while  the  earliest  rays  of  the  sun  where  struggling  with  the 
mists  of  the  valleys  ;  and  when  we  resumed  our  journey,  the  broad 
march  of  the  majestic  day  had  begun  its  full  and  triumphant 
course.  It  was  one  of  those  delicate  and  delightful  days  when 
the  common  air  seems  charged  with  the  life  and  inspiration  of 
eternity. 

That  disposition  to  confound  change  of  circumstance  with  suc 
cession  of  time  which  the  nature  of  our  existence  gives  us,  has 
led  to  the  error  of  limiting  the  act  of  creation  to  an  epoch  and 
an  instant,  To  the  eye  of  true  philosophy  that  mighty  miracle 
is  hourly  repeated.  If  we  apprehend  truly  the  wealth  of  Infinity, 
it  will  be  found  that  every  possible  system  and  sphere  that  now 
has  a  being  must  have  existed  before,  else  that  anterior  condition 
had  not  been  infinite.  Creation,  therefore,  is  but  revelation  ;  and 
daily,  as  the  revolving  sun  gives  glory  to  the  shapes  of  earth,  and 
form  to  the  masses  of  the  sky,  the  wonder  at  which  the  »stars  of 
the  morning  sang  together  for  joy,  is  performed  anew.  Upon 
the  rising  face  of  the  ancient  sky,  which  is  downed  by  the  feather 
ings  of  the  light,  the  softness  of  infancy  ever  is  abiding.  Forth, 
from  the  bottomless  abyss  of  darkness,  day  after  day  surges  up, 
like  the  regular  and  resistless  heaving  of  the  sea,  whose  swell 
never  hurries,  and  whose  lapse  never  pauses.  Thus,  bathing  in 
the  oblivious  tide  of  night,  is  the  youth  of  the  hours  everlastingly 
renewed ;  and  nothing  in  nature,  save  the  heart  of  man,  grows 
old.  The  blue  of  the  heavens  pales  not  with  age,  and  on  the 
odor-plumed  wings  of  the  wooing  breeze  Time  can  moult  no 
quill. 

Upon  the  first  aspect  of  the  awakened  sky  there  is  a  tender 
ness  and  a  charm  which  the  advancing  moments  soon  efface. 
The  varied  countenance  of  the  landscape  of  the  skies  presents 
to  us  at  a  later  period  characters  of  majesty  unsurpassed,  and 
serenity  undisturbed ;  there  is  always  above  us  that  which 
lights  the  fancy,  expands  the  thoughts,  and  calms  the  pas 
sions, — whether  floating  before  the  western  breeze,  there  sail 
beneath  the  sun  clouds  freighted  with  glory, — or  whether  along 
the  silence  of  the  southern  horizon  there  glow  in  dreamy 
splendor  long  crimson  branches  sprinkled  with  spots  of  pearl, 


332  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.        [^ETAT.  20. 

Uke  a  child's  dream  of  Araby  the  Blest :  yet  no  variety  of  the 
ever  ^varying  scene  touches  the  heart  with  half  the  sympathy  of 
joy,  or  excites  the  spirit  with  that  rush  of  inspiration  with 
which  the  fluttering  of  the  primal  sky  kindles  and  melts  the 
gazer's  soul.  Like  the  first  glow  of  passion  upon  the  face  of 
beauty,  it  has  a  magic  of  impression  which  can  never  be  re 
newed  as  it  can  never  be  forgotten. 

"  There  is  a  consideration,"  said  Herbert,  as  we  came  to  a 
point  on  the  road,  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  a  gay  and  glitter 
ing  landscape,  "  which  a  divine  of  the  George  Herbert  school 
might  wisely  moralize  into  a  thousand  similes  ;  I  mean  the  ex 
tent  to  which  the  earth  must  borrow  from  the  sky  to  have  its 
own  earthly  beauties  fully  enjoyed.  When  you  shut  out  the 
clear  smile  of  the  blue  heavens,  you  seem  to  exclude  nothing 
upon  which  man  is  greatly  dependent ;  his  position  and  his 
powers,  the  scene  around  him  and  the  soul  within  him,  remain 
the  same ;  yet,  though  the  privation  may  not  at  once  be  felt, 
time  will  soon  show  that  you  have  cast  a  blight  upon  his  enjoy 
ment  which  no  form  can  resist  and  no  philosophy  compensate  ; 
an  influence  which  deadens  the  affections,  dims  the  brightness  of 
the  virtues  and  even  taints  the  vigor  of  the  intellect ;  convert 
ing  all  desires  and  thoughts  into  a  single  want.  The  iris  hues 
of  the  flower-wreathed  summer — the  meltingness  of  music — the 
grace  of  marbles — the  grandness  of  tower  and  temple — the  age 
of  mountains  and  the  strength  of  ocean — and  all  the  moral  lux 
uries  of  kindling  thought  and  glowing  speech,  and  love  and 
lofty  rank — lose  all  their  might,  so  long  as  his  eye  cannot  hail 
some  portion  of  that  living  color  which  is  to  him  a  glory  and  a 
soul.  Where  the  glad  and  glancing  sun-rays  cannot  pierce, 
the  securest  beauty  droops ;  and  that  impression  which  pos 
sessed  its  cause  as  with  a  presence  and  a  spirit,  dies  from  its 
splendid  magic  and  goes  out.  So  are  those  thoughts  which 
give  respect  to  man  and  dignity  to  conduct,  the  airs  and  odors 
of  an  immortal  world.  The  strong  and  high  existence  of  men 
is  not  shut  up  within  their  mortal  frames  ;  the  bending  sky  is  a 
portion  of  our  life  and  the  apprehension  of  deity  is  a  part  of 
our  mind  ;  for  what  is  the  mind  but  a  mass  of  thoughts  ?  The 


.  20.]  REFLECTIONS   UPON  NATURE.  333 

very  form  and  frame-work  of  the  intellect  consists  of  thought ; 
principles  perceived  make  up  the  intelligence,  and  feelings 
analyzed  constitute  genius.  This  truth  should  be  the  guide  of 
our  schemes  of  education,  which  would  then  be  modes  of  form 
ing  the  mind  as  well  as  furnishing  it.  It  suggests  a  notion 
which  may  be  deemed  fancy  or  prophecy,  according  to  the  tem 
per  of  our  mental  disposition.  If  every  truth  which  the  mind 
discovers,  becomes  a  new  centre  of  observation  from  which  it 
goes  on  to  make  new  discoveries — a  new  instrument  of  conquest 
• — a  new  ward  in  the  intellectual  key,  which  was  wanted  to  un 
lock  some  old  difficulty — then,  the  mind  extends  by  these  ad 
junctions  ;  it  goes  on  transforming  things  which  are  without  it 
to  thoughts  which  are  within  it,  and  of  it,  and  it.  Thus,  by 
degrees,  all  the  external  world  shall  be  transformed  into  inter 
nal  convictions,  and  the  universe  of  matter  be  wrought  into  the 
unit  of  mind,  and  all  material  existence  be  thought  into  God. 
I  confess  when  I  regard  the  proof  the  physical  world  gives  that 
a  God  once  existed,  and  the  evidence  the  moral  world  shows 
that  none  exists  now,  I  am  indeed  tempted  to  think  that  deity 
is  in  abeyance  in  his  creation  ;  and  that  as  the  cumbrous  body 
thus  expires  in  detail,  the  divine  spirit  will  revive  in  its  com 
pleteness.  As  in  the  dry  seed  lies  hid  the  germ  which  holds  in 
narrow  bands  the  perfect  flower  which  shall  glad  the  air ;  and 
in  its  paleness  may  be  read  by  hope's  prophetic  eye  the  soft 
spreading  of  the  roseate  flush  that  shall  make  faint  the  heart 
with  ecstasy,  even  so  in  the  rude  denseness  of  the  formless 
globe  is  involved  the  life  of  the  ever-living.  Do  I  err  in  think 
ing  that  mind  is  in  its  essence  cognatifwith  God  ?  Have  they  not 
the  same  offspring  ?  Are  not  thoughts,  angels  ?  The  ideas 
which  visit  and  persuade  the  soul,  are  they  not  ministers  of 
power  and  life  ?  There  are  thoughts  which  have  tyrannized 
over  men  with  a  sway  that  no  god  or  demon  can  exceed.  The 
thought  of  immortality,  for  example,  has  crazed  and  enslaved 
the  world ;  and  truly  in  its  variety  of  influence  is  stamped  with 
the  seal  of  somewhat  more  than  human.  In  times  of  patient  an 
guish  it  is  a  smooth  river  sliding  softly  through  a  forest — bright 
amid  the  darkness — that  bears  the  soul  gently  from  horrid 


334  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.      [^TAT.  20. 

tangles  into  quiet  meadows  and  smooth  fields  of  joy ;  in  the 
trying  hour  it  is  a  poison-blast,  that  rides  by  in  awful  majesty, 
and  while  the  upper  sails  which  are  yet  exposed  are  creaking 
and  trembling,  the  havened  spirit  clings  nestling  closely  to  the 
bosom  of  its  God :  sometimes  it  is  a  blind,  wild  terror  that  at 
noonday  when  no  foe  is  near  makes  the  wicked  start  to  flee  im 
pending  terror,  or  almost  compels  the  mind  to  totter  beneath 
its  pressure ;  and  sometimes  it  is  a  whirling  flame-eyed  fury, 
that  cracks  its  whip  of  fire  and  rolls  its  rattling  wheels  of 
iron." 

"Every  language,"  said  Thompson,  "has  marked  a  differ 
ence  between  the  mind  and  the  soul;  and  'the  universal  lan 
guage  of  mankind,'  says  a  clear,  close  and  strong  thinker,  'is 
no  fallacious  evidence  of  truths  that  are  founded  in  the  reason 
and  nature  of  things.'  This  difference,  philosophy  has  not  im 
proved;  for,  while  metaphysics  has  grown  into  a  great  and 
cumbrous  science,  none  have  explored  the  spiritual  life  of  men 
or  questioned  of  its  origin  or  nature,  that  immortal  essence 
which  was  before  and  will  be  after  us.  He  who  has  possessed 
his  soul  in  peace  well  knows  that  there  is  sphere  within  sphere 
of  inward  being,  whose  depths  our  mortal  consciousness  does 
never  wholly  apprehend  or  fathom  ;  a  being,  to  the  sense  of 
comprehension,  glimmering  and  dim,  but  to  the  faculties  of 
instinct,  strenuous  and  immortal ;  seen  as  through  the  thin  and 
saffron-misted  dawn,  but  known  as  with  the  fulness  of  the  pulse 
of  noon.  Yiewed  by  none  is  the  form  of  its  nature  ;  felt  by  all 
is  the  fact  of  its  being.  An  apostle  has  suggested  that  by  com 
paring  the  visible  with  the^invisible  or  spiritual  world,  import 
ant  truths  might  be  discovered.  And  certainly  if  an  organiza 
tion  so  distinct  as  it  is  from  both  the  mental  and  material  frame 
of  things  be  found  to  suggest  a  deity,  the  argument  of  his  exist 
ence  is  indefinitely  strengthened.  And  nothing  so  strongly 
avows  divinity ;  it  is  indeed  the  type  of  the  universe  and  the 
antitype  of  God.  Of  this  system,  he  is  the  centre  and  the  canopy 
. — the  spring  and  the  spreading-forth  ;  what  it  has  of  infinite  is 
his,  what  it  tells  of  eternal,  comes  from  him.  And  it  is  this 
faculty  alone  in  man  which  is  capable  of  perceiving  God  ;  hence 


.  20.]        THE  MIND  AND  THE  SOUL.  335 

when  the  passions  of  lust  or  vanity  swell  and  discolor  the  soul, 
it  no  longer  feels  his  presence,  and  prayer  becomes  a  senseless 
thing.  God  is,  indeed,  the  life  and  guardian  of  our  hearts,  'the 
elder  brother  of  our  spirits;'  and  they  who  banish  him  from 
their  hearts,  must  toughen  and  petrify  all  the  sensibilities  of 
their  nature.  For  the  tender  soul,  exposed  to  struggle  with  the 
naked,  atheistic  world,  quivers  and  shrinks,  as  would  the  un 
covered,  living  flesh,  blown  by  chilling  blasts  ;  then,  aching  with 
distress,  it  draws  within  the  thought  of  God,  and  that  thought 
is  the  balm  of  peace  and  gladness  of  repose.  When  intercourse 
with  worldlings  has  fouled  and  made  turbulent  that  atmo 
sphere  of  the  soul,  by  which  its  breath  is  heal-thful  and  its  vision 
clear,  and  made  its  respirations  convulsed  and  difficult,  sym 
pathy  with  heaven  is  the  pure  zephyr  that  blows  away  the 
vapors  that  have  clogged  the  scene.  Truly  may  we  say  with 
the  prophet  in  the  hour  of  our  inward  trial,  '  In  the  secret  place 
of  thy  dwelling  shalt  thou  hide  me,'  and  with  the  apostle,  '  To 
whom  should  we  go,  Lord,  but  to  thee  ?' " 

"The  truths  which  the  mind  produces  seem  to  be  wrought 
out  into  existence  by  the  enginery  of  effort ;  those  exhibitions 
of  mysterious  knowledge  which  the  soul  puts  forth  seem  to 
be  involuntary,  and  almost  accidental.  It  takes  no  cognizance 
of  the  interests  of  the  passing  world,  and  the  wisdom  that 
springs  from  our  human  condition  and  dies  with  mortality,  is 
no  portion  of  its  lore.  But  oracles  of  the  knowledge  of  the 
anterior  life  and  experience  of  our  spirits,  and  of  the  relations 
which,  in  'the  being  of  the  eternal  silence,'  it  bears  to  the  un 
seen  powers  of  the  universe,  are  wrapt  within  it,  as  phosphoric 
light  is  folded  in  the  bosom  of  the  wave ;  and  casual  agitation 
shakes  them  out.  When  a  soul  has  for  a  season  entertained 
one  peculiar  course  of  thought  and  feeling,  and  chance  or 
change  of  humor  sends  in  another,  and  the  two  currents  meet — 
it  is  in  that  moment  that  great  truths  respecting  our  nature  are 
discovered.  By  removing  the  barrier  of  worldly  care  and  cal 
lousness  which  shuts  off  from  our  consciousness  the  divinest 
portion  of  our  being,  our  life  may  always  sit  in  the  unclouded 
brightness  of  celestial  light,  and  memories  of  past  eternity  will 


336  FRAGME.NTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.        [,ETAT.  20. 

be  exhaled  into  its  contemplations,  while  '  winged  thoughts  of 
the  "  sursum  cor  da"  kind,'  connect  it  with  the  everlasting  future 
which  awaits  us." 

"The  man,"  said  Thompson,  "of  all  the  English  thinkers, 
best  fitted  to  investigate  these  strange  powers  of  our  nature 
was  Coleridge.  He  has,  indeed,  done  something  to  estimate 
their  character  and  value,  and  so  has  Davy ;  but  a  systematic 
display  of  the  subject  is  yet  wanting.  Coleridge  was,  by  his 
moral  qualities,  fearfully  well  fitted  for  the  task.  Owing  to  his 
long  and  dubious  struggle  with  a  habit  which  became  a  vice  by 
the  disingenuousness  of  his  conduct  in  the  matter,  he  lived  for 
years  in  what  Greville  has  called  the  '  twilight  between  vice  and 
virtue  ;'  and  the  dark  contests  and  fluctuating  emotions  of  his 
spirit  amid  these  alternations  gave  him  capacity  to  behold  the 
tints  of  sin  and  purity  in  their  broadest  and  deepest  contrast ; 
he  bathed  in  degradation  to  renew  the  Houri  delicacy  of  his 
appreciation  of  holiness,  and  when  he  relapsed  to  self-indulgence 
the  stain  stung  deeper  into  his  soul  for  the  tenderness  which 
recent  absolution  had  produced.*  His  spirit  writhed  under  the 
galling  inconsistency  of  the  lectures  of  an  apostle  combined 
with  the  life  of  an  apostate,  and  flashed  forth  in  its  agony 
gleams  of  portentous  light  that  are  garnered  into  stars  among 
his  poems,  and  which  give  the  reader  pause,  like  the  signs  of 
a  magician  which  we  know  to  be  spells  though  we  cannot 
conjure  with  them.  Davy,  too,  I  fear,  sometimes  violated  the 
majesty  of  his  self-respect,  and  that  may  have  given  morbidness 
to  a  faculty  which  in  most  men  is  unfeeling." 

"A  pregnant  caution,  by-the-by,"  said  Herbert,  "against 
giving  credit  to  facts  and  anecdotes  gathered  from  report,  is 
furnished  by  the  host  of  errata  which  the  more  recent  biogra 
phy  of  that  distinguished  philosopher  has  detected  in  the  early 

*  See  "Recollections  of  Coleridge,"  by  Cottle — the  most  valuable  book  which 
has  hitherto  appeared  upon  this  subject.  It  is  a  skilful  development  of  one 
of  the  most  extraordinary  and  instructive  histories  ever  exposed;  and  it  is 
done  kindly  though  firmly.  Much  of  the  tale  is  purely  humiliating,  yet  is  its 
conclusion  proud,  and  touching  even  unto  tears;  when  we  behold  this  king 
of  thought  freed  from  the  demon  which  had  convulsed  his  days,  and  at  the 
close  of  life  "sitting  clothed  and  in  his  right  mind." 


.  20.]  COLERIDGE  AND  DAVY.  33f 

and  more  popular  one.  A  few  more  such  expositions  might 
profitably  teach  the  reading  many  what  the  thinking  few  are 
well  convinced  of,  that  the  current  class  of  memoirs  and  remi 
niscences,  whether  still  ductile  to  the  imagination  of  narrators, 
or  gathered  with  all  their  improvements  into  books,  have  in  no 
case  that  degree  of  accuracy,  not  to  say  exactness,  on  which 
one  who  seeks  the  truth  may  certainly  depend.  In  a  few 
instances  in  which  I  have  been  able  to  compare  versions  adopted 
by  society  of  some  given  incident  with  the  literal  facts,  I  have 
found  that  the  statements  of  the  nearest  and  most  authentic 
parties  gambolled  absurdly  from  the  truth.  The  most  tenacious 
memories  have  a  trick  of  substituting  one  circumstance  for  an 
other  in  the  histories  confided  to  them,  in  a  manner  which  leaves 
the  individual  wholly  unconscious  of  the  change.  When  a  nar 
rative  has  passed  through  two  or  three  lips,,  it  is  generally  as 
much  modified  by  the  process  as  the  sounds  which  conveyed  it. 
It  is  a  rare  accomplishment  to  hear  a  story  as  it  is  told ;  still 
rarer,  to  remember  it  as  it  is  heard  ;  and  rarest  of  all,  to  tell  it 
as  it  is  remembered." 

"  In  the  disputes  which  animate  and  exercise  the  world,"  said 
Thompson,  "  pure  truth  upon  one  side  is  perhaps  never  brought 
to  oppose  pure  truth  upon  the  other,  but  all  the  arguments  are 
to  a  certain  degree  diluted  with  error.  Fortunately  the  debase 
ment  is  equal  on  both  sides ;  we  fight  in  a  cloud  that  dims  alike 
the  adversary's  eye,  and  the  muffled  weapon  which  we  bear  is 
compensated  by  the  dulness  of  his." 

"  One  circumstance,"  said  Herbert,  "  in  the  characters  of  the 
men  you  have  spoken  of,  gives  me  a  higher  opinion  of  the  mind 
of  Davy  than  of  Coleridge's ;  I  allude  to  the  fondness  which 
Coleridge  had  for  theory,  and  the  contempt  and  dislike  with 
which,  especially  in  his  later  days,  Davy  regarded  it.  Theory 
is  essentially  unphilosophical  :  it  fetters  the  mind  and  makes 
the  errors  of  the  past  tyrannise  over  the  inquiries  of  the  future. 
It  is  of  no  service  in  the  investigation  of  subjects  and  the  pro 
gress  of  knowledge ;  it  belongs  to  the  stationary  periods  or 
those  of  decline.  Youth  is  captivated  by  brilliant  generaliza 
tion  j  age  values  truth  more  highly,  and  cares  less  for  tho 
29 


338  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [^ETAT.  20. 

management  of  them.  If  the  principles  of  our  classification 
be  erroneous  or  narrow,  we  shall  certainly  be  led  into  error 
that  will  be  serious  where  the  matter  is  still  in  the  progress  of 
development.  A  theory  based  on  the  qualities  of  an  object 
will  prevent  its  being  unfolded  according  to  its  objects  ;  and  he 
who  arranges  topics  in  reference  to  their  causes  will  cease  to 
value  them  according  to  their  results.  Thus  the  jurisprudence 
of  every  nation  will  show,  that  when  law  becomes  a  science 
and  a  system  it  ceases  to  be  justice.  The  errors  into  which  a 
blind  devotion  to  arbitrary  and  theoretical  principles  of  classi 
fication  has  led  the  common  law,  will  be  seen  by  observing  how 
often  the  legislature  has  been  obliged  to  come  forward  to  restore 
the  equity  which  its  scheme  had  lost." 

"  The  English  law  is  at  present  one  of  the  most  curious 
monuments  in  existence — an  antique  bulk,  hewed  and  plastered 
and  puttied  into  a  modern  shape — a  fiction,  retained  long  after 
the  object  of  it  has  passed  away.  Yet  it  strikes  me  as  a  sub 
lime  proof  of  the  wisdom  and  caution  of  that  nation  which  has 
modified  what  was  defective  from  the  beginning,  and  has  resorted 
even  to  the  silliest  app&ndages  of  fictions,  rather  than  make  a 
radical  change." 

"  The  only  portion  of  the  constitution  which  Southey  cannot 
muster  toryism  enough  to  admire  is  the  law.  In  that  matter,  he 
prays  for  reform." 

"  He  is  a  wise  man,  is  Southey,"  said  Thompson  ;  "  and  a  good 
man ;  in  fact,  the  greatest  man  of  the  times,  though  not  enough 
of  a  quack  to  be  popular.  He  and  Coleridge  are  men  of  equal 
strength,  and  the  only  superiority  of  the  latter  lay  in  his  charla 
tanry.  A  clamor  has  been  raised  against  him  for  the  errors  of 
his  youth;  as  Bembussays, ' quod puer peccavit,  accusant  senemS 
But  Southey  changed  only  as  circumstances  changed,  perceiving 
that  uniformity  is  not  consistency.  Erasmus  in  one  of  his  epistles 
complains  of  a  fate  very  similar  to  the  Laureate's ;  '  rapiuntur  in 
diversum  omnia,  etiam  quce  optimo  scribuntur  animo ;  ne 
tempus  quidem  perpenditur,  quo  scripstt  aliquis,  sed  quod 
suo  tempore  recte  scribebatur,  transferunt  in  tempus  incom- 
modissimum.'  The  defamers  of  both  of  those  great  men  should 


.  20.]  SHELLEY  AND  BYRON.  339 

have  remembered,  that,  however  they  might  have  seemed  to 
vary  in  position,  they  were  always  true  to  the  faith  of  their 
principles  and  always  obedient  to  the  law  of  their  natures.  In 
the  feelings,  hopes  and  purposes  which  have  presided  over  the 
life  of  Southey,  there  has  been  no  turning;  though  he  may  have 
seen,  ns  he  advanced,  a  better  mode  of  accomplishing  what  he  de 
sired,  than  when  he  set  out.  It  is  to  his  praise,  that  from  his 
earliest  youth  he  has  been  the  friend  and  defender  of  virtue.  The 
advancement  which  Southey  has  given  to  literature  has  been 
mediate  rather  than  direct ;  it  lies  in  what  he  has  directed  and 
encouraged  others  to  do  more  than  in  what  he  has  done  himself. 
1  Thalaba'  was  a  bold  and  defiant  '  declaration  of  independence' 
on  all  the  critical  principles,  models,  and  canons,  whose  authority, 
till  then,  had  enslaved  taste  ;  it  was  an  act  like  that  flinging  of 
the  spear  by  the  converted  Saxon  king  into  the  sacred  enclosures 
of  Druidical  superstition,  which  desecrated  forever  the  imputed 
holiness  which  was  itself  the  false  god  that  had  enfettered  men's 
minds.  The  dull  deity  of  classical  correctness  was  thenceforth 
unsceptred,  and  all  were  at  liberty  to  adopt  what  license  they 
pleased.  Accordingly,  it  became  the  shield  of  Ajax,  under  cover 
of  which  Byron  and  Moore  came  upon  the  field." 

"The  author,  whose  true  character  in  these  times  it  seems 
most  difficult  to  settle,"  said  Herbert,  "  is  Shelley.  His  imagina 
tion  was  inexhaustible,  and  his  creative  faculties  boundlessly  rich ; 
but  there  was  in  him  a  total  want  of  judgment.  His  works  are, 
therefore,  not  so  much  poems  as  splendid  storehouses  of  poetical 
materials ;  and  to  estimate  the  exact  worth  of  such  disordered 
wealth,  has  not  been  an  easy  task.  Unfortunately  for  the  speedy 
determination  of  his  merits,  his  works  are  of  a  kind 

Quo  neque  procax  vulgi  penetrabit,  atque  longa 
Turba  legentium  prava  facesset. 

What  the  mob  canvass,  they  soon  conclude ;  but  that  which  is 
debated  only  by  the  learned,  will  long  be  doubtful.  On  the 
whole,  I  think  that  the  reputation  of  Shelley  has  risen  with  time, 
and  that  Byron's  has  declined." 

"  Of  the  latter  point,  in  the  sense  in  which  you  mean  it,  I  am 


340  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [JSrAT.  20. 

not  so  sure,"  said  I.  "The  intense  personal  interest  which  the 
peer,  his  position  and  history  excited,  and  which  at  first  might 
not  be  easily  distinguished  from  the  admiration  of  the  poet,  has 
indeed  subsided  :  but  if  his  name  is  less  often  in  the  newspapers, 
his  merits  are  more  freely  acknowledged  by  the  critical.  He 
now  stands  where  nobility  is  no  recommendation.  In  the  litera 
ture  of  the  past,  as  in  the  ninth  place  at  whist,  the  honors  are 
not  counted.  Byron's  European  fame  is  the  best  earnest  of  his 
immortality,  for  a  foreign  nation  is  a  kind  of  contemporaneous 
posterity." 

"There  is  a  cant,"  said  Herbert,  "of  extolling  Byron  for  his 
deep  acquaintance  with  life  and  his  extensive  experience  of  so 
ciety.  To  my  thinking,  his  misanthropy  and  anger  against  men 
denoted  a  want  of  thorough  knowledge  of  the  world  and  a  partial 
and  defective  reasoning.  There  is  a  fine  anecdote  related  by 
Goldsmith  of  Alexander  VI.,  who  on  entering  a  town  which  he 
had  captured,  beheld  a  portion  of  the  townsmen  engaged  in 
pulling  down  from  a  gibbet,  a  figure  designed  to  represent  him 
self,  while  another  part  were  knocking  down  a  neighboring  statue 
of  one  of  the  Orsini  family  with  whom  he  was  at  war,  in  order 
to  put  his  effigy,  when  taken  down,  in  its  place ;  Alexander,  far 
from  condemning  the  adulation  of  these  barefaced  flatterers, 
seemed  pleased  at  their  zeal,  and  turning  to  Borgia,  his  son,  only 
said  with  a  smile,  '  You  see,  my  son,  how  small  is  the  difference 
between  a  gibbet  and  a  statue.'  Scorn  is  the  most  ignorant  and 
thoughtless  form  of  disesteem ;  there  is  a  patient  tolerance  that 
lies  beyond  contempt,  and  a  placid  love,  born  of  pity,  is  a  yet 
profounder  phase  of  unregard.  Shelley's  apathetic  carelessness 
of  men  showed  that  he  despised  them  from  his  heart;  and 
Wordsworth's  diligent  cheerfulness  and  systematic  content,  in 
dicate  a  more  thorough  appreciation  of  the  worthlessness  of  life 
than  either  of  the  others  attained." 

"Byron  and  Shelley,"  said  Thompson,  "were  friends  in 
life,  and  have  often  been  classed  together  in  literature  ;  but  they 
were  in  truth  intellectual  antipodes.  The  feeling  on  Byron's 
pages  is  all  personal  feeling ;  it  is  actual  emotion,  elevated  and 
refined  into  the  ideal.  His  sufferings  suggested  all  his  senti- 


.    20.]  SHELLEY  AND  BYRON.  341 

ments;  and  experience  was  the  parent  of  all  his  thoughts. 
Shelley's  feelings  were  in  his  imagination,  and  he  had  no  person 
ality.  It  is  the  business  of  poetry  to  present  to  us  the  generali 
sations  of  ideal  passions,  and  these  are  usually  attained  by  for 
getting  or  merging  the  individual  and  the  real,  and  sending  the 
mind  to  wander  through  the  fabrics  of  fancy ;  in  this  sense  it  is 
justly  affirmed,  that  Byron  succeeded  by  the  magnitude  of  his 
failure.  He  wrote  true  poetry  without  being  a  poet ;  he  shaped 
into  poetry  its  antagonism.  The  other  was  born  a  bard.  Hence, 
if  in  respect  of  the  mental  qualities  of  the  two  men  as  geniuses, 
the  question  of  greatness  be  made,  we  give  the  palm  to  Shelley  ; 
if  in  reference  to  their  moral  abilities  as  performers,  we  name 
Byron.  In  the  first  view,  Shelley  possessed  more  of  the  poetical 
faculty ;  in  the  second,  it  is  Byron's  praise,  that  in  despite  of  the 
defect  of  those  qualities,  he  wrote  yet  more  splendid  verses  than 
the  other.  The  first  was  an  intellectual  superiority,  the  last  was 
a  personal  triumph  ;  in  the  one  you  praise  the  mind,  in  the  other, 
you  applaud  the  man  ;  in  that  you  extol  the  gorgeous  fancy,  in 
this  you  reward  the  victorious  will." 

"  Shelley's  mind,"  said  Herbert,  "seemed  to  be  no  portion  of 
himself;  his  consciousness  was  apart  from  his  conceptions.  It 
is  this  which  makes  him  often  difficult  to  be  understood,  for  usu 
ally  it  is  through  sympathy  of  temper  that  men  attain  to  unity 
of  thought.  A  flash  of  mutual  feeling  brightens  a  chain  of 
notions  otherwise  dark  and  perplexing.  The  poet  lifted  by  pas 
sion  to  some  airy  seat,  babbles  of  the  golden  forms  which  his 
fancy  floats  before  him,  and  his  words  will  be  Pindaric  to  our 
sense,  unless  we  are  placed  in  the  same  position  by  similarity  of 
mood.  Notions  are  but  the  expanded  flower  and  foliage  from 
the  germ  of  feeling,  and  we  must  plant  the  latter  in  our  heart, 
ere  the  atmosphere  of  our  intelligence  will  be  gladdened  by  the 
former.  In  truth,  we  never  fully  comprehend  a  poet's  lines,  un 
less  we  are  beforehand  in  possession  of  the  poet's  meaning,  and 
his  words  but  remember  us  of  our  own  images ;  in  that  case,  he 
is  explaining  our  own  affections  to  us,  and  giving  us  in  ideas 
what  we  previously  possessed  in  impressions.  It  is  the  business, 
therefore,  of  the  judicious  poet,  by  addressing  the  heart,  to  fling  his 
29* 


342  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.    [^!TAT.  20. 

feelings  upon  us  before  he  expands  his  meaning,  and  thus  to 
aqueduct  the  chasm  between  our  consciousness  and  his  thoughts. 
There  is  no  trace  of  personal  feeling  from  one  end  of  Shelley's 
writings  to  the  other.  Compare,  for  illustration,  his  ode  to  the 
sky -lark  with  Wordsworth's  on  the  same  subject ;  the  one  is  a 
record  of  individual  emotions  and  a  retrospect  of  spiritual  expe 
rience,  and  breathes,  throughout,  the  sadness  of  a  pensive  soul ; 
the  other  displays  an  artificial  and  mechanical  ingenuity,  and,  as 
exquisite  as  a  Greek  chorus,  is  as  cold  as  a  Greek  statue.  It  is 
this  same  absence  of  conscience  and  want  of  moral  impressibility 
which  makes  the  atheism  of  Shelley  so  thorough  and  undoubting. 
Byron  suffered  so  intensely  from  the  stings  of  mental  remorse, 
and  labored  with  such  agony  of  effort  to  brighten  the  blackness 
of  vice  into  that  image  of  light  and  beauty  for  which  his  spirit 
was  self-stung  to  struggle,  that  when  he  most  earnestly  chants 
the  glories  of  sin,  he  is  unwittingly  offering  his  tribute  to  virtue. 
The  convulsion  of  passion  under  which  he  labored  was  wrought 
by  his  striving  to  maintain  the  erectness  of  his  spirit  amid  the 
tyrannizing  encroachments  of  the  devastations  of  wickedness." 

"  On  the  whole,"  said  Mr.  Thompson,  "Byron  has  done  great 
service  to  virtue,  and  will  be  regarded  through  all  time  as  having 
made  in  that  matter  a  great  and  conclusive  experiment.  Before 
his  time,  men,  dwelling  in  the  region  of  moderate  decency,  have 
handled  and  smelt  and  tasted  the  forms  of  seductive  vice,  and 
have  asserted  that  there  was  much  excellence  in  them,  and  that 
it  might  be  a  question  whether  it  were  not  a  safe  game  wholly 
to  relinquish  truth  and  its  restraints,  and  to  take  up  with  vice 
for  vice's  sake.  But  Byron  is  the  first  man  who  has  devoted  his 
life  and  powers  to  the  cultivation  of  flagitiousness,  and  has  been 
determined  to  find  and  fix  in  depravity  all  his  hopes  and  wishes 
and  rewards.  To  this  new  scheme  of  happiness  he  dedicated 
himself  wholly,  and  with  all  the  ardor  of  desperation  ;  he  sounded 
passion  to  its  depths,  and  raked  the  bottom  of  the  gulf  of  sin ; 
he  explored,  with  the  indomitable  spirit  of  Carathis,  every 
chamber  and  cavern  of  the  earthly  hell  of  bad  delights  ;  and  the 
result  was  barrenness  and  exhaustion ;  the  conclusion  was,  that 
when  the  inspiring  immortality  of  celestial  hope  was  resigned, 


.  20.]  BYRON.  343 

there  was  an  end  to  the  interest  which  had  once  been  attractive ; 
— that  in  atheism  there  was  no  principle  of  progression, — no 
source  of  vitality, — no  impulse  to  exertion ; — that  virtue  is,  in 
its  views,  its  thoughts  and  its  hopes,  prolonged,  complete,  and 
permanent, — that  vice  is  deciduous,  crumbling,  fragmentary ;  that 
the  one  addresses  itself  to  that  within  us  which  is  deep  and  ever 
lasting,  while  the  other  engages  only  those  faculties  which  are 
mortal  and  transitory,  and  leaves  the  eternal  soul  'to  the  self-tor 
ture  of  irremediable  vacuity.' " 

"  When  we  observe  the  extraordinary  difference  in  the  whole 
system  of  principles,  purposes  and  impressions  between  Lord 
Byron  and  all  who  have  gone  before  him,  and  remember  that 
every  great  era,  whether  progressive  or  revolutionary,  has  been 
preceded  by  some  great  author  who,  in  the  fulness  of  prophetic 
feeling  has  embodied  all  the  sentiments  and  sources  of  power 
which  lay  at  the  bottom  of  that  general  effort,  are  we  not  entitled 
to  conclude,  that  this  poet  is  the  forerunner  and  herald  of  the 
advent  of  some  new,  deep,  fervid  epoch  which  shall  develop  in 
action  that  struggling  energy  which  his  verses  show,  and  be  as 
violent,  as  free,  and  as  selfish  as  he  was  ?  or,  if  you  deny  the  ac 
cidental  connection  in  time  which  this  supposes,  is  it  not  pro 
bable  that  he  will  create  such  an  age  ?  '  Poets  and  philosophers 
are  the  unacknowledged  legislators  of  the  world.'  At  all  events, 
whether  or  not  we  admit  either  a  causative  or  a  coincidental  con 
nection  between  poetry  and  politics,  the  sure  and  deep  progress 
of  democracy  in  every  portion  of  the  world  seems  likely  to  evolve 
in  history  a  condition  of  which  the  bard's  bold  fire  shall  be  the 
antitype.  The  radical  quality  which  gives  character  to  both  is 
the  same, — a  passionate  selfishness, — a  sullen  savageness,  assumed 
by  men  to  make  their  mood  the  master  of  their  life.  This  anti 
cipated  similarity  would  only  be  giving  to  the  age  a  resemblance 
which  one  of  its  acts  already  exhibits.  Against  the  centuries- 
woven  frame  of  fetters,  the  tide  of  revolution  heaved  up  its  ful 
ness  as  the  last  race  were  passing  from  the  earth,  and  Napoleon 
embodied  this  spirit  in  politics  and  Byron  in  literature.  In  him 
were  gathered  all  the  dim  and  vague  half  thoughts  of  liberty  and 
strength  and  madness  which  ages  of  every  kind  of  oppression 


344  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [^TAT.  20. 


had  created.  His  genius  was  the  feathered  mounting  of  the 
waters  where  the  recurring  stream  conflicted  with  the  flow. 
That  agitation  has  subsided,  but  I  think  that  another,  slower, 
calmer,  more  general,  and  stronger  swell  is  setting  in,  which,  as 
it  grows  mightier  in  its  pacific  fulness,  will  dissolve  and  absorb 
what  that  other  more  impetuous  surge  shocked,  but  could  not 
shake.  I  am  not  one  of  those  who  can  see  the  dawn  of  a  new 
era  already  streaking  the  eastern  sky  ;  I  do  not  believe  this  broad 
rebellion  will  come  '  to-day  nor  yet  to-morrow  ;'  but  sooner  or 
later  it  must.  The  democratic  sentiment  is  one  which  will  pre 
vail  wherever  it  is  promulgated  ;  it  has,  in  itself,  a  silent  power 
to  sap  away  society,  as  the  unseen  weather  saps  tower  and  castle. 
It  addresses  itself  to  the  worst  passions  of  our  nature,  and  rouses 
all  the  sceptred  strength  that  dwells  in  evil,  while  it  is  in  these 
days  sanctified  by  an  imputed  name  of  virtue,  and  thus  unites 

In  friendly  league 

Etherial  natures,  and  the  worst  of  slaves  ; 
Is  served  by  rival  advocates  that  come 
From  regions  opposite  as  Heaven  and  Hell." 

"I  question,"  said  Herbert,  "the  permanent  establishment  of 
any  thing  like  a  democratic  system.  Antagonism  is  the  essential 
soul  of  democratic  strength  ;  opposition  is  the  source  of  its  might  : 
when,  therefore,  it  has  conquered  enmity,  and  that  which  it  at 
tacked  has  been  dissolved  to  its  separate  elements,  its  virtue  is 
departed  ;  its  triumph  is  its  traitor.  As  soon  as  it  has  destroyed 
control,  and  all  is  free  and  open,  enterprise,  which  is  the  daughter 
of  liberty,  creates  wealth  and  gives  employment  to  all,  and  a 
conservative  disposition  is  generated  among  the  people.  Thus 
does  the  condition  of  a  state  swing  round  through  anarchy  to 
peace  and  power.  I  will  venture  to  aver,  that  in  no  republic 
will  politics  ever  darken  to  democracy  where  the  destructive 
spirit  is  not  kept  up  by  infusions  from  the  dregs  of  those 
countries  where  there  is  something  to  generate  it." 

"Upon  that  view,"  said  Thompson,  "we  need  not  hope  for 
either  permanent  establishments  or  prolonged,  but  a  succession 
of  political  systems,  containing  in  themselves  the  seeds  of  their 


.  20.]  POLITICAL  REFLECTIONS.  345 

own  destruction  and  re-institution ;  and  that,  in  truth,  seems  to 
be  the  destiny  of  the  world." 

"  To  rise,  to  shine,  and  to  set,  is  the  fate  of  every  power  and 
wisdom  that  man  displays.  Humanity  occasionally  puts  forth 
extraordinary  strength,  illustrates  great  principles  of  action,  or 
lights  up  great  stars  of  knowledge,  which  fade  and  are  forgotten 
with  the  age  which  they  distinguish.  Few  temporary  improve 
ments  enter  into  the  general  civility  of  the  world ;  in  still  fewer 
cases,  are  faculties  advanced  in  one  epoch,  kept  up  in  the  next. 
I  mean  that  there  is  no  progression  in  the  abilities  of  the  general 
race.  Perhaps,  some  scientific  facts,  and,  it  may  be,  some  scientific 
powers,  may  be  inoculated  on  the  universal  human  mind,  so  that 
one  age  shall  be,  in  its  fundamental  character,  and  in  the  ground 
work  and  starting-point  of  its  capacity,  placed  before  its  prede 
cessor  ;  but  it  is  otherwise  with  physical  skill,  and  with  moral 
wisdom.  Men  are  as  little  able  to  govern  themselves  now  as  they 
were  in  those  times  of  deep  learning,  ardent  piety,  correct  principle 
and  strong  sense,  commonly  called  the  dark  ages.  If  we  admit 
that  one  century  avails  itself  of  the  wisdom  of  past  years,  and  is  in 
structed  by  the  accumulated  knowledge  of  many  eras,  this  age  can 
have  no  pretension  to  that  sort  of  superiority ;  for  it  scorns,  not 
studies  the  past, — it  breaks,  not  builds  on  its  foundation, — it  op 
poses,  not  amends  its  conclusions.  It  has  assumed  such  a  po 
sition  that  it  renounces  all  the  advantage  of  experience,  and  its 
maxims  are  as  crude  and  raw  as  those  of  the  first  barbarians 
could  have  been.  Pulling  down  a  house  is  an  odd  way  of  im 
proving  it.  I  am  the  hearty  advocate  of  reform :  I  repeat  with 
the  earnestness  of  a  prayer  the  benediction  of  old  Plowden, 
'  blessed  be  the  amending  hand  :'  but  because  I  wish  amendment, 
I  do  not  wish  destruction." 

"  Revolution  is  the  greatest  enemy  of  reform,"  said  Herbert, 
"  and  reform  is  the  best  protection  against  revolution.  To  an 
ticipate  hostility  by  yielding  voluntarily  what  will  soon  be  ex 
acted,  is  the  best  mode  of  maintaining  influence.  It  should  be 
the  politician's  wisdom  to  escape  the  tempest  by  outrunning  the 
wind." 

"  The  cabinets  of  Europe,"  said  Thompson,  "  are  now  vitiated 


346  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.    [^TAT.  20. 

by  a  circumstance  which  weakens  the  politics  of  all  refined 
ages ;  the  manners  of  the  time  and  the  taste  of  courts  give 
pre-eminence  to  the  subtle  head  rather  than  the  strong  hand, 
and  the  class  who  are  thus  called  out  are  necessarily  inferior  in 
vigor  to  the  more  sincere  and  hearty  races  that  once  ruled.  The 
artificial  villains  of  this  age,  who  elaborately  form  their  character 
upon  those  of  the  unscrupulous  diplomatists  of  former  times, 
though  they  acquire  a  set  of  principles  nearly  resembling  those 
of  their  prototypes,  yet,  owing  to  the  process  by  which  they 
reach  the  same  point,  they  miss  what  is  the  very  secret  of  the 
strength  of  the  others  ;  their  principles  not  being  the  result  of 
their  passions,  but  the  debased  creation  of  their  evil  wishes, 
they  knowingly  offend  the  better  law  which  is  within  them,  and 
so  lose  their  self-respect,  which  saps  the  power  of  gaining  re 
spect  from  others.  The  great  spirits  whom  they  attempt  to 
copy,  while  they  only  reproduce  the  empty  shell  of  the  char 
acter  they  emulate,  were  so  absorbed  in  their  conflicts  with  the 
world,  that  they  never  turned  their  eyes  in  upon  themselves, 
and  were  not  wasted  by  the  weakness  of  conscious  villainy." 

"Strength  will  go  farther  in  ruling  mankind  than  skill. 
There  is  a  charm  in  the  display  of  power,  wherever  it  appears, 
that  makes  men  thankful  thralls.  It  is  this  which  gives  such 
fascination  to  Byron,  and  will  always  make  him,  in  spite  of  criti 
cism  and  morality,  the  idol  of  the  many.  Nothing  in  literature 
equals  the  power  with  which  he  tore  thoughts  from  things,  and 
wrung  ideas  from  emotion,  as  the  chorded  viol  wrings  melody 
from  the  tortured  air." 

"  Yet  to  the  eye  that  judges  of  effects  from  causes,  there  is  less 
power  and  far  less  courage  in  the  strife  of  Byron  than  in  the 
serenity  of  Wordsworth.  Byron  could  not  rise  as  he  did  to  the 
dignity  of  mental  calmness  and  the  majesty  of  mental  content 
ment.  There  is  in  Wordsworth  none  of  the  narrow  sympathy 
and  bigoted  enthusiasm  of  the  school  of  passionists.  He  can 
love  his  own  thoughts  without  hating  those  of  others.  He 
indulges  in  no  straining  after  the  impossible, — no  reaching  after 
the  unattainable.  When  he  has  created  a  sentiment  with  the 
ardor  of  a  poet,  he  determines  its  value  with  the  judgment  of 


MTA.T.  20.]  WORDSWORTH  AND  SOUTHEY.  34f 

a  philosopher.  The  temper  which  recognises  the  good  that  is 
in  the  world,  is  more  maturely  wise  than  that  which  searches 
for  the  evil.  Compare  the  impressions  with  which  Wordsworth 
and  Southey  have  contemplated  that  class  of  persons  who  are 
'content  to  dwell  in  decencies  forever,'  and  who  perform  all  the 
outward  and  visible  duties  appointed  by  religion,  but  without 
any  of  the  kind  gushings  of  a  human  heart.  You  may  compare 
the  two.  Southey's  dialogue  is  thus  : 

STRANGER. 

Was  his  wealth 

Stored  fraudulently, — the  spoil  of  orphans  wrong'd, 
And  widows  who  had  none  to  plead  their  right? 

TOWNSMAN. 

All  honest,  open,  honorable  gains, 

Fair  legal  interest,  bonds  and  mortgages, 

Ships  to  the  East  and  West. 

STRANGER. 

Why  judge  you  then 
So  hardly  of  the  dead  ? 

TOWNSMAN. 

For  what  he  left 

Undone, — for  sins  not  one  of  which  is  written 
In  the  Decalogue — 

STRANGER. 

Yet  these 

Are  reservoirs  whence  public  charity 
Still  keeps  her  channels  full. 

TOWNSMAN. 

Now,  Sir,  you  touch 

Upon  the  point.     This  man  of  half  a  million 
Had  all  these  public  virtues  which  you  praise  : 
But  the  poor  man  rang  never  at  his  door, 
And  the  old  beggar  at  the  public  gate, 
Who,  all  the  summer  long,  stands  hat  in  hand, 
He  knew  how  vain  it  was  to  lift  an  eye 
To  that  hard  face.     Yet  he  was  always  found 
Among  your  ten  and  twenty  pound  subscribers, 


348  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [^STAT.  20. 

Your  benefactors  in  the  newspapers. 

His  alms  were  money  put  to  interest 

In  the  other  world, — donations  to  keep  open 

A  running  charity  account  with  heaven, — 

Retaining  fees  against  the  last  assizes, 

When,  for  the  trusted  talents,  strict  account 

Shall  be  required  from  all,  and  the  old  Arch-lawyer 

Plead  his  own  cause  as  plaintiff. 

The  traits  of  Wordsworth's  description  are  not  more  similar 
than  the  tone  of  his  feeling  is  different. 

Many,  I  believe,  there  are 
Who  live  a  life  of  virtuous  decency, 
Men  who  can  hear  the  Decalogue  and  feel 
No  self-reproach  ;  who  of  the  moral  law 
Established  in  the  land  where  they  abide 
Are  strict  observers  :  and  not  negligent 
In  acts  of  love  to  those  with  whom  they  dwell, 
Their  kindred,  and  the  children  of  their  blood. 

Have  we  now  any  indignant  denunciation  of  these  as  not  fulfill 
ing  the  whole  measure  of  Christian  charity  ?  No  such  thing  I 
— that  one  blames  the  rich  for  what  they  do  not :  this  considers 
how  much  they  do.  '  Praise  be  to  such,  and  to  their  slumbers 
peace !'  is  the  wiser  ejaculation  of  his  comprehensive  mind : 
and  he  goes  on  to  tell  us  that  the  poor  man,  the  abject  poor, 
does  not  find 

In  this  cold  abstinence  from  evil  deeds, 
And  these  inevitable  charities, 
Wherewith  to  satisfy  the  human  soul !" 

"No  doubt,"  said  Herbert,  "the  Laureate's  is  a  younger 
wisdom  than  his  friend's.  He  writes  like  one  in  whom  nature 
has  not  done  with  her  resentments.  The  other  might  usually 
take  for  his  motto  the  lines  of  the  kindly-souled  chansonnier, 

De  1'univers  observant  la  machine, 
J'y  vois  du  mal,  et  n'aime  que  le  bien." 

"  It  is  in  the  same  spirit  of  catholic  sympathy,"  said  Mr. 
Thompson,  "that  in  a  matter  of  taste  between  the  two  con- 


.  20.]  WORDSWORTH  AND  SOUTHEY.  349 

ditions,  he  observes  a  difference  without  disgust,  and  blames  a 
fault  without  bitterness. 

The  wealthy,  the  luxurious,  by  the  stress 
Of  business  roused,  or  pleasure,  ere  their  time, 
May  roll  in  chariots,  or  provoke  the  hoofs 
Of  the  fleet  coursers  they  bestride,  to  raise 
From  earth  the  dust  of  morning,  slow  to  rise  j 
And  they,  if  blest  with  health  and  hearts  at  ease, 
Shall  lack  not  their  enjoyment : — but  how  faint 
Compared  with  ours !  who,  pacing  side  by  side, 
Could  with  an  eye  of  leisure,  look  on  all 
That  we  beheld ;  and  lend  the  listening  sense 
To  every  grateful  sound  of  earth  and  air ; 
Pausing  at  will — our  spirits  braced,  our  thoughts 
Pleasant  as  roses  in  the  thickets  blown, 
And  pure  as  dew  bathing  their  crimson  leaves." 

"  The  feature  of  mind  which  you  have  noticed,"  said  I,  "  is 
certainly  a  quality  of  the  highest  character.  In  the  proportion  of 
the  largeness  of  the  mind  is  the  variety  of  the  sympathy  :  it  was 
great  in  Scott,  complete  in  Shakspeare.  Few  poets  of  this  day 
may  claim  this  praise.  There  is  much  mental  intolerance  and 
exclusiveness  of  feeling  in  Southey,  and  still  more  in  Coleridge, 
while  it  overruns  the  writings  of  Shelley  and  Mrs.  Hemans,  and 
becomes  disgusting  in  the  pages  of  their  followers.  Wherever 
it  exists,  it  indicates  one  who,  whatever  may  be  his  faculties  of 
intellect,  is  the  subject  of  his  feelings, — one  who  has  not  risen 
from  the  thraldom  of  his  emotion,  nor  surveyed  with  discourse 
of  reason  the  mood  which  he  has  left.  In  Wordsworth's  treat 
ment  of  the  most  disturbing  passions  of  the  soul,  there  is  no 
touch  of  discomposure.  Of  the  most  earnest  wants  of  sensi 
bility,  and  of  the  most  mysterious  experience  of  the  heart,  he 
writes  as  one 

From  such  disorder  free, 
Nor  rapt,  nor  craving,  but  in  settled  peace. 

'  It  is  the  privilege  of  the  ancients,'  says  Lessing,  '  whatever  be 
the  subject  which  they  treat,  to  enter  upon  it  with  that  spirit  of 
calm  inquiry  which  preserves  them  steadily  in  the  middle  line 
30 


350  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [^ETAT.  20. 

between  the  vice  of  exaggeration  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  fault 
of  coldness  on  the  other.'  No  modern  has  attained  so  much  of 
this  moderation;  none  has  so  much  mental  candor,  so  much 
intellectual  impartiality." 

"  The  pervading  purpose  of  Wordsworth,"  said  Mr.  Thomp 
son,  "  is  to  assert  the  sufficientness  of  the  world  as  it  is,  to 
satisfy  all  the  honest  wants  of  a  heart  which  acquiesces  in  the 
wise  and  the  good, — to  declare  that  the  scheme  of  Providence 
is  equally  kind  when  it  takes  away  as  when  it  gives.  Therefore 
the  sigh  of  regret  or  the  groan  of  despair  never  mingles  in  his 
music.  Coleridge  and  Hemans  delight  to  bring  us  by  succes 
sive  descents  of  pictured  misery  down  the  road  of  discontent, 
till  at  the  last  they  flash  upon  us  the  precipice  of  despair,  and 
vanish  ;  they  fling  us  out  of  their  control  into  the  abyss  of 
gloom.  They  furnish,  as  it  were,  the  reductio  ad  absurdum  of 
repining  and  despondency.  But  in  the  restorative  suggestions 
of  Wordsworth,  you  see  the  power  which  curbs  and  brings  back 
to  its  anterior  peacefulness  the  tempests  which  its  might  had 
raised.  The  master  is  never  carried  off  his  feet,  but  when  he 
has  displayed  his  magic  ends  in  the  same  self-possession  he  be 
gan  in.  The  one  party  resembles  life's  mock  creator,  the 
dramatist,  who,  when  he  has  brought  things  to  the  last  acme  of 
despair  and  misery,  lets  the  curtain  fall,  confessing  his  inability 
to  re-arrange  the  fragments  which  he  has  jumbled  in  most  ad 
mired  disorder.  The  other  resembles  the  true  creator,  who 
can  reduce  men  to  the  last  depth  of  ruin,  and  bring  them  back 
again  to  peace  and  power,  without  marring  the  interest  of  the 
scene,  and  displays  more  strength  in  calming  the  agitation  of 
excitement  than  he  does  in  raising  it.  He  contemplates  the 
losses  of  life  without  being  deprived  of  the  wisdom  of  hope. 
When  Coleridge  compares  his  youth  with  his  age,  the  breath 
of  unchecked  melancholy  simply  passes  over  his  lyre,  like  the 
melodious  sigh  of  a  Greek  anthologist,  which  returns  into  itself, 
and  is  as  hopeless  after  the  utterance  as  before  it. 

When  I  was  young  ! — ah  !  woful  when, 
Ah  for  the  change  'twixt  now  and  then! 


.  20.]  COLERIDGE  AND  WORDSWORTH.'  351 

This  breathing  house  not  made  with  hands, 

This  body  that  does  me  grievous  wrong 
O'er  airy  cliffs  and  glittering  sands 

How  lightly  t hen  it  flashed  along ! 

Wordsworth  in  like  manner  speaks  of  the  change  that  has 
coine  upon  him — 

From  what  he  was  when  first 
He  came  among  the  hills ;  when  like  a  roe 
He  bounded  o'er  the  mountains,  by  the  sides 
Of  the  deep  rivers  and  the  lonely  streams, 
Wherever  natnre  led. 

He  tells  us  of  the  days  in  which  the  sounding  cataract, 

The  tall  rock, 

The  mountain,  and  the  deep  and  gloomy  wood, 
Their  colors  and  their  forms,  were  then  to  him 
An  appetite, — a  feeling  and  a  love, 
That  had  no  need  of  a  remoter  charm 
By  thought  supplied,  or  any  interest 
Unborrowed  from  the  eye. 

As  he  reviews  the  scene,  he  says, 

That  time  is  past, 

And  all  its  aching  joys  are  now  no  more, 
And  all  its  dizzy  raptures. 

Yet  mark  the  manly  judgment  with  which  he  puts  by  the  un- 
philosophic  weakness  of  regret,  and  the  ingenuity  of  hopefulness 
with  which  he  finds  a  compensation  for  'what  age  takes  away.' 

Not  for  this 

Faint  I,  nor  mourn,  nor  murmur;  other  gifts 
Have  followed,  for  such  loss,  I  would  believe, 
Abundant  recompense  : 

and  he  goes  on  to  recount  the  graver  instruction  which  the 
landscape  gives  since  he  can  hear 

The  still,  sad  music  of  humanity, 

Nor  harsh,  nor  grating,  though  of  ample  power 

To  chasten  and  subdue  : 


352  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [.ETAT.  20. 

and  can  recognize 

In  nature  and  the  language  of  the  sense, 
The  anchor  of  his  purest  thoughts,  the  nurse, 
The  guide,  the  guardian  of  his  heart,  and  soul 
Of  all  his  moral  being. 

And  his  resolution  '  never  to  submit'  to  vain  repining,  is  finely 
seen  in  the  lines  which  follow  these — 

Nor  perchance 

If  I  were  not  thus  taught,  should  I  the  more 
Suffer  my  genial  spirits  to  decay : 
For  thou  art  with  me,  here  upon  the  banks 
Of  this  fair  river ;  thou,  my  dearest  friend, 
And  in  thy  voice  I  catch 
The  language  of  my  former  heart,  and  read 
My  former  pleasures  in  the  shooting  lights 
Of  thy  wild  eyes. 

In  another  of  his  poems,  the  fourth  book  of '  The  Excursion,' 
he  declares  that 

If  the  time  must  come,  in  which  his  feet 
No  more  shall  stray  where  meditation  leads, 
By  flowing  stream,  through  wood,  or  craggy  wild, 

The  unprison'd  mind 

May  yet  have  scope  to  range  among  her  own, 
Her  thoughts,  her  images,  her  high  desires  : 

and  if  '  the  dear  faculty  of  sight  should  fail,'  he  consoles  him 
self  by  observing  that  he  will  still  be  able 

To  remember 

What  visionary  powers  of  eye  and  soul 
In  youth  were  his ;  when  stationed  on  the  top 
Of  some  huge  hill — expectant,  he  behold 
The  sun  rise  up,  from  distant  climes  return'd 
Darkness  to  chase,  and  sleep,  and  bring  the  day, 
His  bounteous  gift!  or  saw  him  toward  the  deep 
Sink — with  a  retinue  of  flaming  clouds 
Attended. 

And,  although  the  '  fervent  raptures'  of  those  young  days  of 
sensibility  '  are  forever  flown,'  '  and,'  he  continues, 


.  20.]  COLERIDGE  AND  WORDSWORTH.  353 

Since  their  date  my  soul  hath  undergone 
Change  manifold,  for  better  or  for  worse  : 
Yet  cease  I  not  to  struggle  and  aspire 
Heavenward ;  and  chide  the  part  of  me  that  flags, 
Through  sinful  choice,  or  dread  necessity. 

Since  those  '  soul-animating  strains'  were  hushed,  in  which  Mil 
ton  bade  us  '  bate  not  a  jot  of  heart  or  hope,  but  move  right  on 
ward,'  never  has  the  moral  or  courageous  cheerfulness  been  so 
nobly  inculcated.  Moreover,  in  that  sublime  Ode  in  which  he 
teaches  us  that  though  our  bodies  live  in  time,  our  souls  dwell 
ever  in  eternity,  whose  attribute  for  all  that  it  contains  is  immor 
tality,  he  indulges  for  a  moment  in  a  passionate  regret  for  the 
departed  light  that  lay  'about  us  in  our  infancy,'  and  then  rises 
to  his  wonted  strength  of  thankful  satisfaction — 

0  joy  !  That  in  our  embers 

Is  something  yet  doth  live, 
That  nature  still  remembers 

What  was  so  fugitive  ! 

And,  having  lodged  among  the  eternal  truths  of  his  life  the 
knowledge  which  these  'high  instincts'  bore  about  them,  he  ex 
claims, 

What  though  the  radiance  which  was  once  so  bright 

Be  now  forever  taken  from  my  sight; 

Though  nothing  can  bring  back  the  hour 

Of  splendor  in  the  grass  or  glory  in  the  flower, 

He  can  still  find  abundant  blessing  in  what  is  left ; 

In  the  primal  sympathy 
Which  having  been  must  ever  be; 
In  the  soothing  thoughts  that  spring 
Out  of  human  suffering; 
In  the  faith  that  looks  through  death,— 
In  years  that  bring  the  philosophic  mind  j 

the  appreciant  patience  of  his  thoughtful  heart  discerning,  that 
if  the  '  vision  splendid'  of  heaven-remembered  glory  has  faded 
into  common  light,  '  Earth  fills  her  lap'  with  instructions  as  well 
as  'pleasures  of  her  own,'  and  that 
30* 


354  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.    [^TAT.  20. 

Another  race  hath  been  and  other  palms  are  won. 

If  you  will  compare  the  last  stanza  of  an  ode  of  Wordsworth, 
having  for  its  motto  an  extract  from  the  ballad  of  Sir  Patrick 
Spence,  with  the  sixth  paragraph  of  an  ode  of  Coleridge,  bearing 
the  same  motto,  you  will  see  how  much  more  dignified  and  just 
and  valuable  than  the  unprofitable  and  false  dejection  of  the 
more  metaphysical  bard  is  the  temper  in  which  the  other,  while 
he  sees  that  time  has  '  suspended  what  nature  gave  him  at  his 
birth,'  evokes  as  ministers  of  comfort  those  other  faculties  which 
life  and  the  world  evolve,  and  which  are  the  ofifspring  Of  the 
'  human  heart  by  which  we  live,' — 

Reason which  can  bring 

The  timely  insight  that  can  temper  fears, 
And  from  vicissitude  remove  its  sting; 
And  Faith     .     .     .     aspiring  to  that  domain 
Where  joys  are  perfect,  neither  r;ax  nor  wane. 

The  same  loftiness  of  spirit  which  will  not  be  fretted  and  cannot 
be  ennuye,  but  '  makes  the  happiness  it  does  not  find,'  is  visible 
in  the  dignity  which  he  gives  to  common  things.  Byron  de 
lights  in  nothing  but  the  exquisite  and  faultless ;  but  surely  it  is 
a  coarser  sensibility  which  is  only  moved  by  some  image  of  per 
fection  than  that  which  can  be  satisfied  with  the  small  degree  of 
beauty  which  the  actual  and  the  ordinary  presents.  And  in  this 
we  gain  a  view  of  that  disposition  and  faculty  which  give  to 
Wordsworth  a  loftier  rank  as  man  and  moralist  than  any  praise 
of  p-oetry  implies.  Knowing  that  the  world  around  us  and  all 
that  it  contains  is  the  highest  work  of  heaven's  great  King,  and 
is  declared  by  him  to  be  good  and  perfect,  he  has  seen  that  the 
truest  excellence  of  grace  and  loveliness  must  be  found  in  the 
daily  realities  that  encompass  us,  and  we  may  conceive  that  he 
has  aimed  to  find  in  nature  and  in  life  the  same  satisfaction  and 
approval  which  the  incarnate  eye  of  The  Mightiest  and  Most 
Pure  beheld  in  what  he  saw.  The  marks  of  deep  and  compre 
hensive  thought  that  in  Mr.  Wordsworth's  higher  poems  declare 
him  to  be  a  philosophic  reasoner  of  the  highest  order,  declare 
that  in  those  smaller  pieces,  which  have  been  called  puerile  or 
infantile,"  we  must  search  for  some  profounder  purpose  than  has 


;ETAT.  20.]  WORDSWORTH  AND  BYRON.  355 

yet  appeared.  Accordingly,  it  has  appeared  to  me  that,  pro 
ceeding  on.  the  notion  I  have  indicated,  his  object  in  that  class 
of  his  poems  has  been  to  show  what  man  might  feel,  or  ought 
to  feel,  or  what  Deity  intended  that  he  should  feel,  rather  than 
to  declare  that  such  feelings  are  the  self-selected  emotions  of  his 
own  natural  temper, — to  show  that  in  the  flight  of  butterflies, 
the  opening  of  a  celandine,  the  trials  of  a  shepherd  and  the  walk 
of  a  beggar,  there  is  enough  to  gratify  a  healthy  sense  of  the 
beautiful,  to  fill  the  demands  of  a  proper  interest,  and  to  move 
the  sensibilities  of  a  correct  heart.  And  who  that  remembers 
that  these  are  the  scenes  which  the  Infinite  created  for  perfect 
and  contemplates  for  pleasing,  and  of  these  was  the  discourse  of 
Christ,  will  deny  that  his  is  the  true  system  of  taste  ? — Those 
poets  who  only  'speak  of  Africa  and  golden  joys,'  and  those 
moralists  who  feed  the  expectant  hopes  of  struggling  goodness 
with  pictures  of  gorgeous  splendor  and  exciting  incidents  in 
Paradise,  err  alike  in  truth  of  perception  and  in  wisdom  of 
policy,  and  encourage  views  that  are  both  devious  and  discon 
tented.  As  the  faculties  of  man  grow  more  exalted  and  purified, 
he  finds  higher  gladness  in  tamer  things  ;  and  it  is  plain  that  the 
promised  joy  which  the  righteous  shall  attain  will  be  accomplished, 
not  by  elevating  in  degree  the  objects  of  pleasure,  but  by  refining 
in  kind  the  sensibilities  of  the  observer.  The  punishment  of 
Adam  lay  less  in  any  actual  change  of  the  home  of  his  days  than 
in  that  blunting  of  his  susceptibilities  by  sin,  which  made  what 
once  seemed  paradise  appear  a  sterile  world ;  and  conscience  is 
the  sworded  cherub  which  keeps  him  from  the  joy  he  once,  tasted. 
Thus  it  seems  that  Mr.  Wordsworth's  theories  are  supported  by 
his  theology,  and  that  we  must  accept  his  assthetics  until  we  can 
confute  his  creed." 


356  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.    [^TAT.  20. 


A  DIALOGUE  IN  TRAVELLING. 

Reflections  on  travelling  and  its  modes — Scenery  of  the  Tyrol — Power  of 
applying  to  use  the  common  people  in  different  nations — Remarks  on  the 
letters  and  character  of  Dr.  Johnson — City  and  country  contrasted  in 
their  effects  on  imagination — Acted  wisdom  superior  to  written  wisdom — Na 
poleon  a  system — Prospect  of  liberal  institutions  in  Europe — Vienna — 
Trieste — The  Ocean — Voyage  to  Cyprus — Beauty  of  that  Island. 

"  Quao  me  cumque  vocant  tcrrae."— VIRGIL. 

As  I  was  turning  over,  some  time  since,  one  of  the  hundred 
volumes  of  that  eccentric  but  very  interesting  man,  Sir  Egerton 
Brydges,  I  fell  in  with  an  observation  which  struck  me  as  being 
odd,  but  not  unnatural,  and  which,  in  fact,  jumped  with  my 
own  notions  so  far,  that  I  had  always  acted  upon  it  a  good  deal, 
though  I  had  not  thought  of  reducing  it  into  a  regular  system 
of  life.  He  says,  that  if  he  were  not  held  down  by  the  tie  of  a 
family  connection,  and  if  his  means  were  adequate  to  the  ex 
pense  of  the  thing,  he  would  give  up  altogether  the  plan  of 
a  fixed  residence,  and  spend  his  days  in  travelling  about  per 
petually,  from  place  to  place,  throughout  all  the  world ;  com 
forting  himself  amid  the  annoyances  of  to-day  with  the 
confidence  that  to-morrow's  sun  would  rise  over  a  different 
scene ;  enlarging  knowledge  by  surveying  the  old  qualities  of 
humanity  under  new  forms  of  manners  in  the  marts  of  the  world, 
and  enriching  his  fancy  by  an  endless  variety  of  the  splendors 
of  nature.  It  is  the  same  writer  that,  in  another  work,  his 
letters  on  the  genius  of  Lord  Byron,  says,  I  think,  justly,  that 
extraordinary  as  were  the  natural  parts  of  that  great  poet,  he 
yet  was  indebted  to  the  wandering  habits  of  his  life  for  much 
of  that  flashing  grandeur  of  imagination,  that  rush  of  soul  and 
torrent  force  of  an  unblenching  mind,  and  the  charm  of  a  spirit 
magnificently  changeful,  that  kindle  his  pages  as  with  the  fires 
of  heaven,  and  have  made  his  works  the  worship  of  multitudes 
and  a  wonder  of  the  times.  And  this  notion  of  the  learned 
Chandos  has,  I  take  it,  a  good  footing  in  philosophy ;  for  if  it 
be  well  looked  at,  it  will  be  found,  perhaps,  that  those  ideas  which 


20.]  TRAVELLING.  357 

lie  upon  the  fancy,  and  those  thoughts,  which  rise  upon  the 
mind,  are  but  the  images  of  outward  things  acted  on,  and,  as  it 
were,  sublimated,  by  the  analysing  ardors  of  the  moral  powers. 
He,  therefore,  that  has  seen  the  most,  has  most  materials  for 
fancies  and  thoughts ;  while  by  the  same  influence,  if  his  facul 
ties  be  not  of  so  feeble  a  temper  that  they  are  oppressed  and 
crushed  down,  the  moral  energies  we  spoke  of,  are  quickened  by 
the  excitement  of  novelty,  the  stimulus  of  expectation  and  sur 
prise,  and  the  effect  of  fresh  specimens  of  excellence  on  the  emu 
lations  and  ambitions  of  the  soul. 

"A  better  reason,"  as  Sterne  says,  than  all  this, — I  mean  a 
fondness  for  amusement  and  locomotion, — has  made  me  pass 
much  of  my  time  in  voyaging  about.  And,  notwithstanding  the 
many  new  inventions  in  this  way,  I  think  that,  so  far  at  least  as 
pleasure  is  concerned,  we  have  not  improved  much  upon  the 
simple  method  that  was  in  use  among  our  great-grandfathers ; 
that,  I  mean,  of  travelling  on  horseback.  It  is  a  characteristic 
of  this  age,  that  whatever  it  does  it  must  do  passionately.  The 
man  of  the  present  time  will  not  journey,  unless  it  be  furiously. 
If  that  grave  ancestor  of  mine,  who  is  now  looking  down  upon 
me  from  his  stately  chair,  with  nothing  ruffled  about  him  but 
his  wrists,  could  step  out  alive  from  the  canvas  and  behold  the 
crowded  steamboat  pawing  madly  along  the  water ;  or  the  long 
train  of  cars  shooting  like  a  harnessed  comet  over  the  narrow 
road  of  iron,  he  would  surely  imagine  that  one  side  of  the  world 
had  caught  fire,  and  the  scorched  inhabitants  were  rushing  from 
the  flames — or  that  some  still  more  terrible  catastrophe  was 
about  to  happen  at  the  other  end,  and  mankind,  with  a  noble 
philanthropy,  were  hastening  to  prevent  it — or,  at  least,  that 
every  person  in  the  excited  multitude  was  pressing  forward  on 
business  of  a  vital  importance — and  he  would  doubtless  be  sur 
prised  to  be  told  that  those  herds  of  men  were  hurried  on  by 
interest  not  more  weighty  or  more  elevated  than  those  which 
occupied  his  own  bosom,  to  traverse  in  two  hours  the  distance, 
which  to  him,  followed  by  his  careful  servant,  had  often,  for  the 
mind  and  meditative  heart,  formed  the  improving  employment 
of  as  many  days ;  that  one  of  the  most  tremendous  powers  in 


358  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [^!TAT.  20. 

nature  had  been  pressed  into  use  only  that  men  may  save  a  time 
which  they  will  not  employ,  and  shorten  a  distance  which  it 
had  been  pleasant  to  prolong.  An  emblem,  too,  of  the  demo 
cratic  spirit  might  perhaps  be  found  in  the  spectacle  of  men 
pressing  and  pressed  forward  in  masses,  when  before  they  moved 
with  a  more  solitary  and  reserved  independency ;  in  the  sub 
mission  of  individual  inclination  and  humor  to  the  direct  will 
of  the  multitude,  of  which  they  became  a  part ;  the  exchange 
of  a  path  and  a  conveyance  of  limited  capacity  for  speed,  with 
freedom  to  tarry  or  wander  at  discretion,  for  a  road  and  a  ve 
hicle  of  limitless  power,  but  without  the  ability  to  stop  or  de 
viate  at  all ;  with  many  other  fancies  of  the  like  nature.  *  *  * 
It  was  on  a  fine  fresh  day  in  the  beginning  of  the  summer  of 
1828,  that,  along  with  my  friend  the  Count  de  Mardini,  I  crossed 
the  Julian  Alps  from  Lombardy  to  upper  Austria.  A  soft  west 
wind  was  blowing,  and  the  deep  blue  sky  was  piled  with  ranges 
of  white  pillowy  clouds,  which  rose  in  unsubstantial  grandeur,  as 
if  to  mock,  by  their  resemblance,  the  imputed  permanence  of  the 
lofty  hills.  We  had  passed  the  summit  of  the  ridge,  and  were 
beginning  to  descend  on  the  other  side,  when  a  lovely  little  valley 
upon  the  left  rose  upon  my  sight.  I  paused  for  a  moment  to 
look  upon  its  pure  and  light  green  grass,  and  to  contemplate 
the  beautiful  repose  which  rested  upon  it.  Dismounting  from 
my  horse,  and  sending  my  attendant  forward  to  wait  for 
me  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  I  walked  on  through  the  valley, 
leaving  the  count  to  come  along  as  he  pleased.  The  valley 
terminated  by  an  abrupt  and  deep  descent,  after  a  short  distance, 
and  the  brilliant  and  endless  landscape  of  Tyrol  was  before  me. 
The  distant  peaks  rose  far  above  the  lower  clouds,  and  their 
white  caps  were  scarcely  distinguishable  from  them ;  the  blue 
of  the  sky  shaded  itself  through  the  darker  blue  of  the  distant 
hills  into  the  green  of  the  adjacent  woods,  and  the  heavens  and 
the  earth  together  seemed  one  vast  amphitheatre.  I  descended 
the  mountain,  and  remounting  my  horse,  continued  my  journey 
towards  Yienna.  Our  way  lay  through  the  dominions  of  the 
duke  of  Schwartzenburg,  a  prince  once  powerful,  but  whose  terri 
tories  were  now  reduced,  by  the  policy  and  arms  of  the  emperor, 


20.]  APPLICATION  OF  POPULAR  POWER.  359 

to  less  than  half  of  their  former  extent.  Passing  through  the 
forest  of  Gratz,  on  the  borders  of  the  duke's  possessions,  the 
sound  of  horns  occasionally  heard  echoing  about  the  hills,  indi 
cated  that  there  were  huntsmen  in  the  woods  ;  and  I  thought  it 
possible  that  the  duke  himself  was  engaged  in  this  pastime. 

*  The  duke  is  fond  of  the  chase,  I  believe,"  said  I  to  my 
companion,  who  had  long  resided  in  these  regions,  and  now  again 
had  joined  me. 

"  For  want  of  any  thing  better  to  do.  But  you  may  be  sure, 
that  if  his  highness*  found  it  practicable  to  engage  in  any  thing 
better,  he  would  not  waste  his  time  in  this  barbarous  and  bar 
barizing  sport." 

"I  should  think,"  said  I,  "that  as  long  as  his  dominions  are 
covered  by  forests  like  these,  and  peopled  with  such  savages  as 
one  meets  with  everywhere  in  his  dominions,  the  duke  would 
be  at  no  loss  for  objects  to  employ  his  attention.  There  is 
nothing  either  in  things  or  men  which  does  not  require  improve 
ment." 

"  You  say  true  ;  every  thing  is  to  be  done  ;  but  how  to  do  it  is 
the  question.  A  man  cannot  work  without  tools.  The  tools  of 
a  statesman  are  active,  intelligent  men ;  none  such  are  to  be  found, 
for  the  whole  country  is  brutified.  If  the  duke  were  to  attempt 
to  put  in  operation  any  of  the  many  plans  of  improvement  which 
I  know  he  contemplates,  his  first  and  strongest  opposition  would 
be  in  his  own  household." 

"  If  a  man  wants  tools,  he  can  make  them,  or  he  can  do  with 
out  them.  I  know  no  possible  condition  of  things,  in  which  a 
cool  head  and  a  strong  heart  cannot  triumph,  if  it  wills  it." 

"A  prince,  here,"  said  the  count,  "is  the  slave  of  circum 
stances.  Immemorial  custom  has  petrified  around  him,  and 
shut  him  up  in  a  cage  of  stone.  His  privileges  are  compulsory, 
his  rights  are  duties,  his  powers  are  fetters." 

"  Circumstances  are  rocks  under  which  a  weak  man  hides,  and 
which  a  strong  man  scales  and  carves  his  statue  on  the  top.  If 
circumstances  cannot  be  conquered,  they  may  be  directed.  If 

*  The  title  of  an  Austrian  Duke  corresponds  to  "Highness,"  not  "Grace," 
as  in  England. 


360  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [JETAT.  20. 

the  river  cannot  be  stopped,  it  may  be  sent  into  a  new  channel. 
All  that  either  the  statesman  or  the  mechanic  wants,  is  power  ; 
the  operation  of  that  power  he  can  prescribe  himself.  If  custom 
and  circumstance  have  a  power  on  people,  that  power  may  be 
used  for  any  end.  England  is  a  country  in  which  the  art  of 
managing  men  seems  to  me  to  be  better  understood  than  in 
any  other  in  the  world.  The  method  there  is,  not  to  give  the 
people  new  dispositions,  but  to  take  advantage  of  their  old  ones 
• — not  to  instil  good  principles,  but  to  turn  the  bad  ones  to  ac 
count, — in  a  word,  not  to  change  the  wind,  but  to  turn  the  rud 
der.  The  secret  of  success  there,  is  to  identify  a  cause  with  the 
natural  interests  or  the  prevailing  passions  of  the  people.  Under 
shelter  of  this,  adverse  details  may  be  introduced,  as  the  fish 
swallows  the  hook  for  the  sake  of  the  bait." 

"That,"  said  the  count,  " is  practicable  where  great  and  steady 
passions  are  in  action,  which,  having  been  once  tried,  may  again 
be  calculated  upon.  Here  there  is  nothing  to  grapple  with." 

"  If  a  nation  has  a  soul,  it  may  be  employed ;  if  it  has  none, 
one  may  be  put  into  it.  There  is  a  remedy  for  every  national 
defect.  If  a  people  are  dull  and  apathetic,  war  is  the  natural 
remedy.  If  they  are  servile  and  degraded,  privileges,  valuable 
on  the  one  hand  and  safe  on  the  other,  will  give  them  dignity 
and  self-respect.  If  they  are  predatory  in  inclination,  the  pos 
session  of  property  will  teach  them  its  value.  Thus  for  all  dis 
eases  you  may  provide  a  cure.  But  the  difficulty  is,  that  those 
countries  which  want  this  wisdom,  have  not  the  experience  which 
has  taught  it  to  others ;  one  possesses  the  knowledge,  and  an 
other  has  occasion  for  its  exercise.  It  is  the  part  of  wisdom  in 
politics  to  make  observations  rather  than  experiments,  and  if 
these  princes  could  profit  by  the  example  of  older  kingdoms,  or 
if  one  imbued  with  the  spirit,  and  familiar  with  the  tactic  of  an 
active  nation,  could  direct  the  measures  of  these  sovereigns,  the 
union  would  be  blessed  for  the  latter.  Light  is  combination,  and 
so  is  truth  and  power." 

Our  conversations  on  a  subsequent  day  turned  upon  subjects 
of  English  literature,  with  which  the  count,  who  had  long  resided 
in  England,  was  profoundly  acquainted ;  and  also  on  the  politics 


.  20.]  JOHNSON.  361 

of  France,  with  which,  as  he  had  been  an  envoy  for  some  years 
to  the  Court  of  that- country,  it  was  less  surprising  that  he  was 
entirely  versed. 

"I  have  often  amused  my  leisure  time,"  said  the  count,  "by 
reading  some  of  the  letters  of  Dr.  Johnson,  a  man  in  whose  ig 
norances  there  was  more  wisdom,  and  in  whose  prejudices  there 
was  more  truth,  than  in  the  learned  candor  of  the  most  liberal 
philosophers  of  the  age.  Nothing,  by-the-by,  gives  me  so  strong 
an  impression  of  the  robust  vigor  of  his  mind,  as  his  hearty  love 
of  cities  and  his  systematic  contempt  and  dislike  of  the  country. 
His  fondness  for  the  narrow  and  unsuggestive  walls  of  Bolt 
Court,  was  a  preference  which  was  characteristic  of  a  man  who 
loved  to  have  no  thoughts  within  his  memory  that  were  not  of 
his  mind ;  whose  inly-working  intellect  preferred  notions  to  ideas ; 
to  the  hawk-like  temper  of  whose  reason,  conceptions  were  more 
germane  than  sentiments.  The  less  the  mind  is  filled  with 
images  of  external  nature,  the  higher  and  fuller  beats  its  own 
creative  energy.  I  think  it  is  Cumberland  who  has  said  that  he 
wrote  with  most  facility  when  he  had  no  other  prospect  before 
his  eyes  than  a  dead  blank  wall.  To  one  who  has  observed  how 
much  influence  the  habitual  presence  of  a  vision  or  pictured  scene 
has  upon  the  strength  and  activity  of  the  mind,  it  might  not  seem 
fanciful  to  suggest  that  one  of  the  reasons  why  America  has  done 
so  little  that  is  great  in  literature,  may  be  the  vast  extent  of  its 
country,  whereby  one  wide  idea  occupies  the  mental  view,. — one 
great  dream  absorbs  the  mental  interest.  Certainly,  to  that  cause, 
and  to  the  consequent  distraction  and  transportation  of  the 
thoughts  and  fancies  over  a  great  and  varied  scene,  assisted, 
doubtless,  by  the  great  facility  of  communicating  with  different 
parts,  and  the  constant  circulation  of  newspapers,  may  be  rea 
sonably  attributed  the  unusual  want  of  individuality  of  character 
which,  as  a  nation,  marks  that  people  ;  for  that  intensity  of  soul 
which  quickens  the  intellect  into  a  salient  fire,  can  only  be  che 
rished  by  summoning  all  the  thoughts  and  interests  within  the 
spirit,  and  making  that  which  is  external,  subject  to  itself.;  sur 
rounding  points  draw  silently  off  that  electric  fire  which  else 
might  be  nursed  into  a  consuming  spirit.  And  the  same  causes 
31 


FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.        [^ETAT.  20. 

which  give  force  to  character,  give  vigor  to  intellect,  for  intel 
lect  is  essentially  distinctive  and  self-evolved  ;  cleverness  may  be 
caught  from  the  imparting  of  the  things  around  us,  but  genius  is 
the  raying  forth  of  inward  light.  The  Englishman  is  confined  to 
a  narrow  walk  of  material  images,  local  impressions,  and  political 
interests ;  and  I  think  that  this  taineness  of  the  physical  gives 
earnestness  and  power  to  the  mind.  Johnson,  bred  up  in  a 
prairie,  had  been  far  other  than  Johnson  jammed  up  in  an  alley." 

"For  the  cultivation  and  exercise  of  the  logical  faculties," 
said  I,  "  and  for  all  those  studies  that  concern  the  '  quicquid 
agunt  homines ,'  that  exclusion  of  the  images  furnished  by  the 
world  of  sense — '  the  infinite  magnificence  of  heaven,' '  the  sleep 
less  ocean,'  and  Hhe  vernal  field' — -which  the  city  ensures,  is 
doubtless  favorable.  Wit,  too,  is  a  thing  essentialy  civic.  The 
queer  pickings  of  Charles  Lamb  from  the  motley  ball  of  humor 
could  never  have  been  prompted  but  by  the  air  of  the  Temple. 
But  that  elevation  of  the  mental  and  moral  being,  around  whose 
purity  plays  the  light  of  philosophy,  or  the  yet  serener  brightness 
of  poetry,  can  better  be  attained  by  inhaling  those  fresh  and 
high-floating  thoughts,  which,  like  air,  encase  the  shapes  and 
sights  of  nature.  The  majesty  of  nature  is  the  curtain  of  deity ; 
and  the  light  of  deity  is  grace  and  truth.  As  poetry,  which  is 
the  highest  truth,  makes  its  haunts  in  the  sky-coped  forest  and 
the  secret  mountain  top,  so  I  imagine  do  the  lesser  spirits  of 
wisdom,  in  the  proportion  of  the  purity  of  their  essence,  require 
to  be  manna-fed  on  nature's  stillness.  Of  the  men  whose  foot 
steps  daily  wear  the  stones  of  London,  there  are  few  who  would 
not  gasp  and  stare  at  a  stanza  of  Wordsworth,  or  even  a  couplet 
of  Pope." 

"  And  yet  those  persons  may  really  be  the  superior  men,"  said 
the  count.  "  The  truths  which  the  poets  bring  into  their  minds 
are  incorporated  in  the  other's  nature,  and  are  thus  too  deeply 
inspirited  in  him  to  be  objective  to  his  mind  ;  they  lie  so  close 
within  him  that  he  does  not  see  them.  I  think  that  the  world 
errs  in  the  high  rank  which  it  assigns  to  literary  men.  I  look 
on  genius  as  being  imperfect  and  truncated  comprehension,  that 
penetrates  like  a  point  by  reason  of  its  narrowness,  and  of  which 


.  20.]  ABSTRACT  AND  APPLIED  WISDOM.  363 

the  light  is  brilliant  because  the  ray  is  broken.  Poetry  is  but 
partial  and  narrow  sympathy,  which  is  interested  in  a  particular 
because  it  sees  not  the  whole.  He  that  has  never  experienced  a 
sentiment  is  the  perfect  poet ;  even  as  the  only  pointless  thing 
in  nature,  the  circle,  is  the  only  complete  one.  He  is  the  uni 
versal  and  encyclopedic  sympathist,  for  he  holds  all  things  before 
his  intelligence  with  an  equal  advancement.  The  centre  of  revo 
lution  must  have  the  rapidest  motion  in  the  system,  and  that  is 
rest ;  the  roar  of  the  coursing  spheres  must  be  the  loudest  in  the 
universe,  and  that  is  silence.  To  be,  is  higher  than  to  describe  ; 
to  do,  is  proof  of  more  wisdom  than  to  analyze  the  doing ;  to 
have,  is  rarer  than  to  explain  the  having.  Homer,  who  created 
by  instinct,  would  have  been  puzzled  to  comprehend  the  rules 
which  Aristotle  discovered  in  him  ;  yet  was  he  the  deeper  critic 
andtheprofounder  philosopher.  In  the  judgment  of  smaller  minds, 
an  angel  who  saw  by  intuition,  would  be  dwarfed  by  a  logician 
who  proved  by  syllogism.  Newton,  who,  at  a  glance,  perceived 
the  truth  of  Euclid's  theorems,  and  could  not  well  demonstrate 
them,  would  have  passed  for  a  dunce  in  a  class-room.  The 
world  is  struck  by  whatever  is  brilliant  in  execution  and  elabo 
rate  in  process  ;  not  perceiving  that  visible  light  can  exist  only 
in  darkness,  and  that  enginery  is  always  the  resort  of  weakness. 
If  we  consider  the  matter  closely,  we  shall  find  that  to  be  wise, 
imports  a  loftier  order  of  intellect  than  to  say  wise  things ;  that 
to  act  truly,  denotes  a  superior  order  of  mind  to  that  which  per 
ceives  truths.  It  is  bookmen  who  settle  the  rank  of  bookmen  ; 
hence,  the  supremacy  given  them.  But,  in  fact,  not  only  is 
bookish  theory  a  feebler  thing  than  practical  prudence,  but  the 
wisdom  of  the  world  of  books  is  less  in  quantity  than  that  of  the 
world  of  action.  There  is  more  wisdom  acted  than  compre 
hended  ;  more  comprehended  than  uttered ;  more  uttered  than 
written.  Practice  is  always  in  advance  of  system ;  the  thinking 
man  is  the  unconscious  plagiarist  of  the  acting  man.  You  will 
always  find  that  the  expedient  of  the  artizan  has  anticipated  the 
principle  of  the  philosopher ;  and  if  you  bring  down  any  true 
poem  to  a  peasant,  you  will  find  that  the  truths  which  it  contains 
are  familiar  to  his  consciousness,  if  new  to  his  understanding. 


364  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [^!TAT.  20. 

That  philosophers  and  poets  daily  proclaim  fresh  truths  in  po 
litical  and  moral  science,  and  that  the  world  does  not  act  more 
wisely  for  all  the  proclamations,  proves  that  those  truths  were 
previously  known  to  the  action  of  the  world.  Governments  are 
framed  wise  by  ploughmen,  and  proved  wise  by  philosophers ; 
mobs  make  revolutions,  and  historians  admire  them.  Might  not 
the  oft-recurring  fact,  that 

A  few  strong  instincts  and  a  few  plain  rules, 
Among  the  herdsmen  of  the  Alps  have  wrought 

More  for  mankind,  at  this  unhappy  day, 

Than  all  the  pride  of  intellect  and  thought — 

have  suggested  that  there  is  a  higher  way  of  knowing  truths 
than  by  the  analysis  of  the  intellect,  and  a  stronger  way  of  prov 
ing  them  than  by  the  machinery  of  the  syllogism  ?  I  consider 
that  the  scales  of  fame  and  of  true  merit  are  inverse ;  and  that 
the  genius  which  we  crown  with  applause,  is  but  a  disordered 
and  distorted  form  of  that  silent  wisdom  which  we  despise  as 
dullness.  Poetry  is  the  natural  mind  run  wild  j  it  is  by  a  re 
straint  of  the  reason  that  we  are  not  all  poets.  But  not  only 
do  I  hold  that  the  hind's  mute  way  of  taking  unconscious  cog 
nizance  of  metaphysical  verities  is  a  higher  one  than  the  pro 
fessor's,  but  the  order  of  new  truths,  which  conduct  exemplifies, 
lies  above  that  of  the  notions  which  speculation  deals  with.  To 
act  with  discretion,  requires  the  union  of  so  many  more  and  more 
difficultly  acquired  qualities  than  are  required  to  think  brilliantly, 
that  I  regard  a  successful  clerk  or  beadle  as  more  respectable  in 
an  intellectual  point  of  view  than  many  who  probe  the  depths 
of  metaphysics,  or  attain  to  the  heights  of  poetry.  Of  course 
there  are  moralists  who  can  'act  and  comprehend.'" 

"  If,  as  your  remark  would  teach,"  said  I,  "men  are  to  be  con 
sidered  truly  intellectual,  in  proportion  as  they  furnish  no  mental 
display  of  intellect,  we  should  probably  be  right  in  preferring  the 
thought-checking  labors  of  urban  life.  The  principle  which  your 
observation  embodies,  has,  I  confess,  sometimes  occurred  to  me, 
though  I  have  never  ventured  to  assert  it  quite  so  distinctly  as 
you  have  done." 

"  If  we  compare  the  two  modes  of  life  which  we  were  speaking 


42TAT.  20.]  MORAL  AND  CIVIL  FREEDOM.  3(55 

of,  by  their  effects  on  masses,"  resumed  Count  Mardini,  "we 
shall  find  that  the  intellectual  and  moral  force  of  cities  is  far 
greater  than  that  of  the  most  populous  country.  To  the  honor 
of  the  former  be  it  said,  that  they  have  always  been  the  asylum 
of  liberty.  In  the  darkest  ages  of  feudal  tyranny,  cities  kept 
alive  the  spirit  of  freedom.  In  every  contest  with  despotism, 
they  have  been  the  first  to  rebel  and  the  last  to  submit." 

"Let  us  not  mistake,"  said  I,  "for  the  spirit  of  liberty,  the 
restlessness  of  vice  or  the  discontent  of  misery.  For  true  and 
valuable  freedom — for  freedom  of  spirit  and  of  mind — for  ele 
vation  of  purpose  and  erectness  of  heart — for  that  independence 
which  annihilates  superiority  by  never  deigning  to  question  it — 
I  confess  that  I  should  look  to  the  vallies  and  the  plains  of  rustfc 
life.  A  king  ceases  to  be  a  superior  in  the  country,  as  a  candle 
is  extinguished  in  the  sun-light ;  and  as  compared  with  infinitude, 
all  finites1  are  equal,  so  does  the  boundless  regality  of  nature 
withdraw  from  ranks  the  sting  of  difference.  The  soul  is  born 
free,  and  if  there  is  nothing  to  enslave  it,  will  remain  so ;  and 
what  is  there  of  slavish  in  the  far-roaming  wind,  the  piercing 
sun,  the  stream  that  never  can  be  staid  ? — what  is  there  to  sug 
gest  a  thraldom  in  the  calm  senates  of  the  lofty  oaks,  or  the 
mute  hilarity  of  laughing  roses  ? 

Die  quibus  in  terris  inscripti  nomina  REGUM 
Nascuntur/ores,  et  eris  mihi  magnus  Apollo." 

"That  sort  of  moral  freedom  which  you  indicate,"  said  the 
count,  "  is  the  only  freedom  that  is  worth  possessing,  and  it  is 
independent  on  the  form  of  polity  under  which  it  is  cherished, 
for  it  is  the  inalienable  quality  of  the  unshackled  mind  and  the 
unsullied  heart.  But  men  in  this  world  will  fight  for  names  and 
forms,  neglecting  the  substance.  With  the  efforts  that  are  now 
going  on  to  republicanise  the  governments  of  Europe,  I  have  no 
sympathy ;  for  I  know  that  they  are  as  foolish  as  I  think  they 
are  vain.  The  honest  are  free  everywhere ;  the  cowardly  no 
where.  I  have  seen  in  democracies  a  vileness  of  subserviency 
that  a  galley  slave  might  have  pitied ;  and  I  have  found  in  the 
31* 


366  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [JEiAT.  20. 


ranks  of  toryism  an  independence  and  a  self-respect  that  Brutus 
never  knew." 

"Except  in  the  reports  of  journalists,  and  the  speeches  of  de 
magogues,  I  do  not  think  that  the  '  spirit  of  the  age'  in  Europe 
tends  at  all  to  republicanism.  The  monarchies  of  Europe  seem 
more  likely  to  resolve  themselves  into  organized  military  des 
potisms  than  to  be  dissolved  into  democracies,"  said  I. 

"  And  that  mode  of  government,  as  now  exemplified  in  Aus 
tria  and  Prussia,"  said  the  count,  "  seems  to  me  the  best  that 
can  possibly  be  contrived,  for  it  is  a  government  of  law.  If  Na 
poleon  had  had  talent  enough  to  combine  properly  the  elements 
that  lay  around  him  in  abundance,  he  could  have  established  a 
government  of  this  nature  that  would  have  been  perfect;  he 
might  have  created  an  administration  that  would  have  combined 
perfect  despotism  with  perfect  freedom." 

"  You  are  the  first  person  that  I  ever  met  with,  count,  who 
has  ventured  to  suggest  that  Napoleon  had  not  talents  for  every 
thing." 

"  Of  all  the  persons  of  whom  I  have  ever  read  or  heard," 
said  he,  "  there  is  no  one  for  whose  abilities  as  a  ruler  and  a 
man  of  power,  I  entertain  a  more  profound  and  settled  con 
tempt  than  for  those  of  Napoleon  Buonaparte.  He  was  a 
great  soldier,  and  nothing  more.  At  no  period  of  his  varied 
life  was  he  the  master  of  the  circumstances  around  him  —  the 
criterion  of  greatness  —  but  always  their  absolute  slave.  He 
controlled  not  the  revolution;  it  began  without  him,  and  its 
elements  had  been  organized  without  him  ;  it  went  forward,  and 
he  went  with  it.  Yast  energies  were  in  dislocated  combination, 
and  were  to  work  out  their  jarring  course  ;  they  did  it  with  him 
on  their  back  ;  they  did  it  as  soon,  and  no  sooner,  as  certainly, 
and  not  more  regularly  than  if  he  had  not  been  there.  France, 
under  Napoleon,  was  like  a  steam-car  thrown  from  its  track, 
and  dashing  madly  through  the  sand  to  the  nearest  precipice  : 
as  it  goes  on  in  awful  force,  for  a  while,  a  man  stands  upon  it, 
and  vaunts  his  own  power  which  directs  it  ;  it  would  have  gone 
as  well  if  a  child  had  sat  upon  the  box.  The  government  of 
Napoleon  contained  within  itself  always  the  elements  of  inevit- 


20.]  NAPOLEON.  357 

able  ruin.  Every  mistake  in  policy  which  he  could  make,  he 
made ;  while  there  stood  beside  him  a  pale  priest,  who  warned 
him  from  every  one  of  them.  The  true  history  of  the  empire  is 
this,  that  Buonaparte's  military  fame  had  raised  him  to  such  a 
height  that  he  was  fourteen  years  in  falling  to  the  ground.  A 
merchant  may  live  for  years  in  a  state  of  bankruptcy,  and  still 
appear  to  be  solvent.  Napoleon's  extravagant  foreign  enter 
prises  were  the  desperate  movements  of  a  dancer  on  a  slack- 
rope,  conscious  that  the  moment  of  pause  is  the  moment  of  fall : 
he  could  not  have  kept  his  place,  in  peace.  His  triumph  was 
but  for  the  half-hour  necessary  for  his  enemies  to  recover  from 
their  surprise.  What  a  contrast  between  him  and  Cromwell ! 
who  bent,  conquered,  and  crushed  circumstances,  as  if  they  had 
been  osiers  ;  and  lived,  not  like  Napoleon,  only  till  the  unavoid 
able  explosion  should  take  place,  but  lived  secure  in  the  confi 
dence  that  his  genius  had  broken  down  all  danger  and  esta 
blished  his  safety.  Napoleon  held  his  power  at  the  sufferance 
of  Talleyrand  and  Fouche,  and  a  dozen  more :  they  made  use 
of  him,  not  he  of  them  ;  and  when  it  suited  their  interest,  they 
dismissed  him.  Cromwell  stood  on  his  own  single,  all-sufficient 
strength.  Compare  Napoleon  with  Mirabeau,  who,  instead  of 
floating  like  a  straw  upon  the  whirlwind,  waved  the  tempest  into 
fury  with  one  hand,  and  stretching  forth  the  other,  said,  '  Thus 
far  shalt  thou  go  and  no  farther.'  In  estimating  the  greatness 
of  any  one,  you  must  judge  either  by  the  effects  which  he 
wrought,  or  by  his  own  inherent  personal  might.  By  both 
tests  Napoleon  is  found  wanting.  Cromwell  transformed  for 
everlasting,  the  condition  of  the  English  people,  and  the  prin 
ciples  of  English  society;  kings  came  in  after  him,  but  the  mark 
of  his  five  fingers  is  on  the  government  to  this  day,  and  will 
never  vanish.  Ximenes  revolutionized  Spain,  once  and  forever ; 
and  the  modern  guerilla  glories  of  the  Peninsula  attest  his 
genius.  These  countries  passed  through  the  grip  of  these  men 
like  clay  through  the  hands  of  the  potter ;  the  empire  passed 
over  France  like  a  bright  cloud  over  the  earth.  Where  are  the 
results  of  Napoleon's  life?  where,  the  political  evidence  of  his 
existence  ?  The  France  of  Louis  Philippe  is  the  France  of 


368  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [J3TAT.  20. 

Louis  Quatorze.  Read  the  histories  of  the  times  of  the  First 
and  Second  James  in  England,  or  of  Henry  and  Charles  in 
Spain ;  and  in  both  instances  you  will  say,  '  There  has  been 
some  mighty  spirit  at  work  in  this  interval.'  Read  the  annals 
of  the  last  five  years  in  France,  as  a  history  of  a  century  back, 
and  you  will  detect  no  moral  anachronism.  Napoleon  left  a 
few  roads  and  statues  ;  what  are  these  ?  Proofs  only  of  wealth ; 
any  rich  men  might  have  built  them.  He  operated  on  things  ; 
they  on  men ;  he  wrote  his  name  upon  the  ground ;  they  stamped 
their  likeness  on  the  nation.  If,  again,  you  look  at  the  individual, 
Napoleon  had  absolutely  no  personality.  He  was  a  name.  No 
man  can  be  great,  who  has  not  great  passions ;  he  had  none. 
Richelieu  left  on  France  the  furrows  of  every  passion  that  ever 
lightened  through  his  breast.  The  country  shook  as  he  breathed. 
Sketch  his  stupendous  policy  in  the  form  of  a  portrait,  and  you 
have  a  colossal  image  of  the  man.  You  feel  inclined  to  call 
France,  under  his  administration,  Richelieu ;,  and  to  call  him 
France.  What  all  these  men  did,  they  did  alone ;  all  their  great 
contemporaries  opposed  them.  But  take  away  from  the  empire 
some  five  or  six  names,  and  you  have  nothing  left  but  the  pomp 
and  the  glitter.  Some  one  asked  Mackintosh  what  de  Stael 
meant  when  she  said  that  '  Napoleon  was  not  a  man,  but  a  sys 
tem ;'  'Mass!  I  don't  know,' said  Sir  James.  But  she  meant 
wisdom  :  she  meant  that  there  was  in  France  a  confederate 
system  of  power,  organized  by  powerful  men,  at  the  head  of 
which  stood  Napoleon,  and  that,  by  a  political  synecdoche,  the 
world  has  called  this  system  '  Napoleon.'  Certainly,  great  things 
were  done  under  the  empire ;  but  Buonaparte  no  more  did  them, 
than  Shakspeare's  wig  wrote  Othello.  The  splendor  of  his 
military  achievements  has  struck  the  world  blind  to  his  miser 
able  statesmanship ;  the  grandeur  of  his  pacific  monuments, 
which  only  showed  greatness  of  aspiration  and  great  command 
of  physical  means,  has  been  deemed  evidence  of  greatness  of 
intellect,  as  the  swelling  robe  conceals  the  mean  form  behind  it. 
But  the  very  qualities  which  his  victories  evinced,  unfitted  him 
for  statesmanship.  He  fought  his  battles  on  general  principles, 
and  by  the  aid  of  grand  and  comprehensive  combinations ; 


.  20.]  NAPOLEON.  369 

whereas  politics  is  essentially  a  science  of  detail — a  system  of 
particulars-^a  rule  of  exceptions.  When  the  history  of  France 
under  Napoleon  is  truly  written  by  an  independent  thinker,  it 
will  exhibit  a  great  national  triumph  and  a  contemptible  per 
sonal  failure." 

"  The  utter  failure  of  both  French  revolutions,"  said  I;  "  is  a 
mournful  discouragement  to  the  hopes  of  the  philanthropist ; 
yet  with  these  prospects  before  me,  I  am  still  not  without  hope 
that  great  results  may  yet  be  accomplished  in  the  political  im 
provement  of  men.  The  great  impediment  in  the  way  of  success 
ful  change  from  tyranny  to  freedom  is,  that  the  agitation  which 
necessarily  attends  the  process  constantly  rouses  that  ambition 
which  might  otherwise  have  slumbered,  and  sharpens  those  quali 
ties  of  power  which  might  else  have  been  ineffective.  But  for  the 
sounds  of  war,  Napoleon  might  have  lived  and  died  at  Ajaccio, 
and  his  spirit  might  have  slept  as  calmly  and  as  darkly  as  now 
reposes  its  possessor  in  his  wave-swept  grave.  Still,  as  in  all 
cases  of  failure,  the  causes  of  failure  are  evident  and  were  evi- 
table,  there  yet  remains  hope  that,  in  some  future  voyage,  the 
harbor  rocks  may  be  avoided,  and  the  smooth  river  gained. 
The  wreck  of  one  vessel  on  a  sand  bar,  so  far  from  proving  that 
another  will  share  the  same  fate,  affords  a  strong  presumption 
that  its  successor  will  avoid  it ;  for  the  danger  is  made  known. 
Taught  by  repeated  failure,  man  may  at  length  devise,  or  guided 
by  accident,  may  discover  perfect  institutions,  and  these  will 
make  perfect  men,  and  the  dream  of  the  sanguine  may  yet  wake 
to  fulfilment." 

"The  perfectibility  of  things  human,"  said  Count  Mardini, 
"  is  a  true  doctrine,  but  with  a  circumstance  not  always  observed. 
The  perfection  of  all  things  beneath  the  heaven  will  be  their 
destruction  ;  for  destructiveness,  or  the  disposition  to  impracti 
cability,  becomes  in  every  thing  mundane,  after  a  certain  point 
of  improvement,  an  element  developing  itself  with  geometric 
acceleration,  while  the  melioration  goes  on  in  arithmetical  in 
crease.  The  good  in  an  institution,  a  machine,  or  a  character, 
may  now  far  exceed  the  opposing  tendency  to  dissolution  or 
unfeasibility,  but  the  augmentive  ratio  of  the  latter  so  far  ex- 


370  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [JEtAT.  20. 

ceeds  that  of  the  former,  that  by  the  time  that  one  has  reached 
perfection,  the  other  will  equal  it  and  nullify  the  whole.  Yague 
as  this  assertion  may  seem  to  you,  it  may  be  proved  in  physical 
matters  by  experiment,  and  in  moral,  by  figures.  The  atheist 
notion  of  the  ultimate  universal  perfection  of  humanity,  and  the 
Christian  dogma  of  the  final  dissolution  of  terrestriality,  so  far 
from  contradicting  one  another,  are  consistent  and  identical. 
At  this  moment,  the  institutions  of  the  liberalized  sections  of 
Europe  are  on  the  point  of  becoming  perfect  and  impossible. 
It  has  happened  from  the  beginning  until  now — it  will  happen 
from  now  until  the  end — that  men  and  nations  advance  nobly 
into  the  illuminated  temple  of  Reform,  as  if  led  by  an  an 
gel's  hand,  and  when  their  hand  is  just  upon  the  altar,  then, 
as  if  a  demon's  eye  glared  on  them,  they  are  paralyzed  in  an 
instant,  or  start  back  into  the  darkness  and  barbarity  of  thresh 
old  times.  So  invariably  has  this  happened,  that  it  cannot  be 
the  occasional  eifect  of  falling  oif,  but  the  essential  consequence 
of  going  on  ;  in  fact,  the  pit  lies  at  the  foot  of  the  altar. 

Jove  strikes  the  Titans  down, 
Not  when  they  set  about  their  mountain-piling, 
But  when  another  rock  would  crown  their  work. 

But  the  splendid  thinker  who  wrote  those  lines — by  far  the  most 
splendid  of  our  time* — errs  in  imagining  that  to  be  the  accident 
of  defeat,  which,  in  truth,  is  the  essential  consequence  of  suc 
cess." 

Entertaining  the  time  with  such  conversations  as  these,  among 
others,  on  different  topics,  we  found  ourselves  after  some  days' 
travel  in  the  capital  of  Austria,  where  my  friend  Mardini  was 
now  residing.  Here  I  spent  some  weeks  in  the  enjoyment  of 
such  pleasures  as  the  society  of  that  metropolis — one  which  I 
have  sometimes  thought  was  the  most  brilliant  in  Europe — could 
afford.  Leaving  the  count,  at  the  end  of  the  time,  in  that  city,  I 
resumed  my  travels,  now  solitary,  and  directed  my  course  towards 
the  South.  A  week's  ride  brought  me  to  Trieste.  The  faint 

*  Robert  Browning. — ED. 


.   20.]  THE  OCEAN.  371 

summer  sun  was  declining  through  the  dreamy  mists  of  the  west, 
when  the  long,  blue  line  of  ocean  burst  upon  my  sight.  My 
heart  was  glad  within  me  when  I  beheld  the  glorious  image  of 
the  infinite  and  eternal.  ****** 

Ha !  exclaimed  I,  as  I  sprang  upon  the  broad  beach  of  the 
Mediterranean,  and  my  spirit  drank  the  splendid  spectacle  of 
light  and  life  that  spread  before  me — what  a  relief  it  is  to  es 
cape  from  the  straining  littleness  and  wearisome  affectation  of 
men,  to  the  free,  majestic  and  inspiring  sea — to  listen  to  his 
stern,  exalted  voice — to  watch  the  untrammelled  swell  of  these 
pure  waters,  till  the  pulse  of  our  own  heart  beats  in  sympa 
thetic  nobleness — to  behold  it  heave  in  untiring  energy — chang 
ing  momently  in  form,  changing  never  in  impression !  What 
joy  is  it  to  be  sure  that  here  there  is  nothing  counterfeit — noth 
ing  feigned — nothing  artificial !  Feeling,  here,  grapples  with 
what  will  never  falter ;  imagination  here  may  spread  its  best 
plumed  wings,  but  will  never  outstrip  the  real.  There  is  here 
none  of  that  fear  which  never  leaves  the  handicraft  of  art — 
the  fear  of  penetrating  beneath  the  surface  of  beauty.  Here, 
man  feels  his  majesty  by  feeling  his  nothingness ;  for  the  majesty 
of  man  lies  in  his  conceptions,  and  the  conception  of  self-noth 
ingness  is  the  grandest  we  can  have.  That  small  and  noxious 
passion-mist,  which  we  call  our  soul,  is  driven  without ;  and  our 
TRUE  soul — the  soul  of  the  universe,  which  we  are — enters  into 
us.  The  spirit  which  rests  like  a  vapor  visibly  upon  the  bosom 
of  the  waters  is  a  presence  and  a  pervading  power ;  and  the 
breath  which  it  exhales  is  life,  and  love,  and  splendid  strength. 
Nothing  in  nature  renders  back  to  man  the  full  and  instant 
sympathy  which  is  accorded  by  the  mighty  being  who' thus 
reposes  mildly  in  the  generous  grandeur  of  his  glorious  power. 
We  may  love  the  forms  of  the  trees,  the  colors  of  the  sky,  and 
the  impressive  vastness  of  the  hills ;  but  we  can  never  animate 
them  with  a  soul  of  life,  and  persuade  ourselves  that  they  expe 
rience  the  feeling  which  they  cause.  But  the  sea,  as  its  coun 
tenance  shows  its  myriad  mutations  with  the  variety  and  rapidity 
of  the  passions  which  sport  through  the  breast  of  man,  seems 
truly  to  return  the  emotion  which  is  breathed  towards  him ;  and 


372  FEAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.     [JETAT.  20. 

fellowship  and  friendship — yea,  and  personal  affection — are  the 
sentiments  which  his  gambols  rouse  in  the  spectator's  heart. 
The  flashing  smiles  that  sparkle  in  his  eye — are  they  not  his 
happy  thoughts  ? — and  the  ripples  that  flit  their  scouring  dance 
over  his  breast — are  they  not  feelings  of  delight  that  agitate 
his  frame  ?  Whether  I  am  amid  mountains,  or  on  plains,  there 
is  not  an  hour  in  which  my  existence  is  not  haunted  by  the 
remembrance  of  the  ocean.  It  abides  beside  me  like  a  thought 
of  my  mind; — it  occupies  my  total  fancy; — I  ever  seem  to 
stand  before  it.  And  I  know  that  whenever  it  shall  fare  so  ill 
with  me  in  the  world  that  comfort  and  consolation  can  no  longer 
be  found  in  it,  I  have  a  paraclete  beside  the  shelving  beach  who 
will  give  the  consolation  man  withholds.  The  strong,  thick 
wind  which  comes  from  it  will  be  full  of  life ;  the  petty  tumult 
of  care  will  be  shamed  by  the  gigantic  struggle  of  the  elements, 
and  subside  to  peace.  What  can  be  more  noble  or  more  affect 
ing  than  the  picture  of  the  old  priest,  who,  wronged  by  the 
Grecian  king — his  calm  age  fired  with  passion — retires  along  the 
shore  of  the  sounding  sea  and  soothes  his  breast  ere  he  invokes 
the  god  ? 

'       •'.      '}•          ':  '   •'  I 

Thoughts  like  those 
Arc  medicin'd  best  by  nature. 

I  have  never  stood  by  the  banks  of  the  ocean  thus  superbly 
fringed  with  curling  waves,  and  listened  to  that  strange,  ques 
tionable,  echoed  roar,  without  an  emotion  altogether  superna 
tural.  That  moan — that  wail  of  the  waters — which  comes  to 
the  ear,  borne  on  the  wind  in  the  stillness  of  evening,  sounds 
like  the  far-off  complaint  of  another  world,  or  the  groan  of  our 
own  world's  innermost  spirit.  Like  some  of  the  unearthly 
music  of  Germany,  when  heard  for  the  first  time,  it  startles  a 
feeling  in  the  secret  mind  which  has  never  before  been  wakened 
in  this  world,  giving  us  assurance  of  another  life,  and  the  strong 
est  proof  that  our  soul  is  essentially  immortal.  Little  as  I  am 
inclined  by  nature — and  I  am  still  less  by  principle — to  indulge 
in  hankerings  after  the  unattainable,  still  I  have  always  sought 
to  realize  that  sentiment  by  which  the  soul  infers  that  its  birth- 


.  20.]  REFLECTIONS.  3*73 

place  and  home  is  above,  by  finding  within  itself  thoughts  and 
emotions  which  are  germane  only  to  that  realm,  and  which 
could  not  take  root  but  in  a  soil  celestial,  nor  flourish  unless 
watered  in  the  bud  by  the  undescended  dews  of  heaven.  Go, 
stand  in  a  lonely  forest  at  midnight,  when  no  sound  awakes  the 
echo,  and  look  up  on  the  moon  gliding  over  the  pillowed  clouds 
— go,  and  standing  upon  the  topmost  stone  of  The  Coliseum, 
gaze  upon  the  sun  slowly  sinking  through  the  silent  mists  to  his 
resting-place,  the  sea — or,  mounting  upon  The  Pyramids,  explore 
the  deep,  blue  sky,  which  hangs  above  you — and  this  feeling 
will  come  to  you  in  all  its  fulness,  and  you  will  know  its  truth 
and  will  confess  its  power.  Upon  such  scenes  I  have  looked, 
and,  looking,  wept  at  my  own  incompetency  to  grasp  in  its 
completeness  this  mysterious  instinct,  and  to  fathom  it  to  its 
foundation.  But  I  have  calmed  my  agitation  and  descended  to 
the  business  of  life  with  the  hoarded  assurance  of  deep  bliss  in 
store  for  me  hereafter,  when,  through  a  long  futurity  in  another 
world,  with  an  eye  brightened,  a  heart  quickened,  and  an  under 
standing  infinitely  more  comprehensive,  I  may  attain  unto  that 
which  in  this  sphere  has  baffled  me,  and  repose  throughout 
eternity  in  the  fruition  of  glorious  thoughts,  which  here  I  can 
but  dimly  apprehend,  and  splendid  truths  which  here  I  only 
doubtfully  discern.  ****** 

I  found  in  the  port  of  Trieste,  a  vessel  about  to  sail  for  the 
island  of  Cyprus.  I  took  passage  on  board  of  it,  and  on  the 
following  morning,  the  silvery  waves  of  the  Adriatic  were  whiten 
ing  in  front  of  us,  as  sailing  round  cape  Parna,  we  emerged  from 
the  narrow  bay  into  the  broader  gulf.  The  crew  of  the  vessel 
consisted  of  that  motley  sort  of  company  which  is  usually  found 
in  the  ships  of  the  Mediterranean, — Jews  of  Lombardy  and 
Istria  on  their  way  to  the  Morea  and  the  islands  of  the  Archi 
pelago — Candiotes  returning  home  from  the  sale  of  olives  at 
the  Austrian  markets ;  here  was  a  young  Turk  who  had  been 
pursuing  his  medical  studies  in  Italy,  and  there  was  a  Dervish 
on  his  way  to  Khorassan.  Each  individual  or  party,  according 
to  their  national  distinctions,  though  strangers  to  one  another, 
gradually  withdrew  from  the  rest,  and  retiring  to  some  parti- 
32 


374  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.    [JSrAT.  20. 

cular  part  of  the  vessel,  maintained  a  haughty  reserve  as  to  the 
remainder  of  the  passengers.  The  Jews  were  crouching  in  the 
dirt  of  the  forward  deck,  or  thrusting  themselves  stealthily  into 
little  knots  of  talkers  with  the  offer  of  opium  and  tobacco,  and 
other  wares,  for  sale  :  the  solemn  Turk  was  pacing  the  stern,  with 
his  long  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and  a  shining  dagger  in  his  belt ; 
and  a  small  party  of  shivering  Frenchmen,  with  their  hands  in 
their  pockets,  and  their  bodies  shrunk  with  the  cold,  were  laugh 
ing  at  a  sickly  dancing  dog,  as  the  miserable  animal  was  jump 
ing  to  the  sound  of  a  cracked  violin. 

On  the  fifth  day  of  the  voyage,  we  touched  at  the  island  of 
Meleda,  off  the  coast  of  Dalmatia ;  and  I  trod  with  some  inte 
rest,  the  ground  which  later  and  more  learned  investigations 
have  proved  to  be  the  scene  of  the  shipwreck  of  St.  Paul. 
Thence  we  sailed  along  by  the  wild  and  picturesque  Ionian 
Islands — Corfu  and  Theaki,  the  fanied  Corcyra  and  Ithaca  of 
the  Homeric  poems.  We  anchored  for  a  day  in  the  bay  of 
Candia,  and  I  landed  to  trace  the  memorials  still  remaining  of 
that  protracted  defence,  which,  whether  we  regard  its  moral 
importance  or  its  physical  efforts,  is  one  of  the  most  striking 
and  honorable  events  in  modern  history. 

The  sun  had  declined  into  the  western  sea,  and  the  mild  moon 
light  was  streaming  far  and  wide  through  the  clear,  still  air, 
when  about  midnight,  the  isle  of  Cyprus  was  descried  from  the 
rigging.  I  was  standing  alone  upon  the  forward  deck,  leaning 
over  the  bowsprit,  and  watching  the  finely-feathered  waves  that 
rose  like  an  imperial  banded  plume  around  the  majestic  on-step 
of  the  ship.  Thence,  raising  my  eyes  to  where  the  moon,  in 
her  mild  purity  presiding,  smiled  light  and  love  throughout  the 
adoring  air,  I  let  float  through  my  pensive  mind,  those  feeling 
thoughts  of  which  the  holy  scene  seemed  redolent.  Not  a  cloud 
interrupted  the  flood  of  light  which  rained  through  the  air;  not 
a  breath  of  wind  disturbed  the  lone,  white  slumbers  of  the  deep. 

Eair  is  the  morn  upon  the  monarch  sea  !  when  the  day's  broad 
and  burning  eye  flings  one  swift  flash  over  the  waters,  and  ere 
the  glancing  light  has  rested  from  its  bounding,  springs  above 
the  horizon  and  goes  thundering  on  its  course :  and  the  waves 


.    20.]  CYPRUS.  375 

wake  and  tell  one  another  the  story  of  his  coming.  Fair  is  the 
noon  upon  the  lusty  sea  !  The  heart  of  the  born  king  of  day 
thrills  with  intense  dominion,  and  the  general  pulse  of  nature 
feels  its  fullest,  deepest  beat :  in  that  fervid  struggle  in  which 
the  unconquered  sea  flashes  back  defiance,  flash  for  flash,  there  lies 
the  mightiest  interest  of  power,  energy  and  action,  that  the  uni 
verse  can  show — the  manliest  scene  beyond  the  breast  of  man. 
Fair  falls  the  evening  o'er  the  sombre  sea !  when  nature  pauses 
to  consider  that  another  breath  of  her  life  has  been  drawn  ;  for 
the  day  and  the  night  are  the  respirations  of  the  universe :  the 
face  of  the  waters  darkens  with  regret  that  their  so  glorious 
rival  hath  succumbed,  and  a  melancholy  smile  plays  upon  the 
brow  of  the  lagging  surge.  Fair  rests  the  night  upon  the  placid 
sea !  O  fairer  than  all  is  the  smile  of  the  midnight  1  It  is  a 
Christian  calmness — a  domestic  quiet !  Every  phase  of  nature 
is  a  manifestation  of  love,  but  through  modes  and  sorts  of  infi 
nite  variety.  The  morning  bounds  with  the  wild  ardor  of  the 
young  man  when  he  first  meets  his  destined  bride  ;  the  noon  is 
rich  with  the  undeficient  gladness  of  the  newly -married  husband  ; 
the  evening  dreams,  an  emblem  of  parted  lovers  ;  but  the  lonely 
midnight  watches  with  the  affection  of  a  pale  mother  over  her 
sleeping  child — still,  though  earnest — serene,  but  anxious — 0  I 
how  anxious ! — If  the  Christian  scheme  be  a  mortal  fancy,  it 
must  have  sprung  to  being  amid  a  scene  like  this.  *  *  * 

When  I  awoke  on  the  following  morning,  the  gay,  glad  hills 
of  Cyprus  were  around  me :  I  was  in  the  chosen  home  of  beauty 
— the  native  land  of  love.  Nature,  here,  is  as  luxuriant  as 
the  teeming  wish — as  fair  as  the  fancy's  holiest  forms — as 
various  as  the  robe  of  the  many-vestured  day.  Every  thing 
here  is  animated  with  swelling  life.  Morning  rests  upon  the 
hills  like  the  breath  of  Love  upon  the  breast  of  Beauty.  Not 
softer  are  the  virgin  odors  that  nestle  in  the  folds  of  the  opening 
rose ;  not  clearer  is  the  water  of  the  crystaling  diamond,  than 
the  aspect  and  impression  of  that  atmosphere,  and  the  spirit 
melts  into  union  with  it.  The  air  seems  to  be  a  feeling  and 
the  breezes  to  be  vocal  thoughts.  The  seasons,  in  which  the 
sterner  and  fiercer  passions  of  the  soul  find  an  answering  voice  in 


3?6  FRAGMENTAL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.    [^!TAT.  20. 

Nature,  are  many ;  when  there  is  a  concord  between  the  selfish 
or  savage  tempers  of  the  mind,  and  the  spirit  of  the  earth  and 
skies.  The  bitterness  of  cold  Misanthropy ;  the  jealous  fires  of 
Ambition ;  the  Gorgon  severity  of  Hate ;  Lust,  and  Fear,  and 
Frenzy ;  all  these  will  seldom  fail  to  find  a  kindred  mood 
in  "the  great  brotherhood  of  Ocean,  Earth,  and  Air,"  whose 
responsive  throb  shall  deepen  the  beating  of  their  own  wild 
pulse.  It  is  more  rarely  that  the  softer  emotions  of  the  heart 
are  either  suggested  or  sympathized  in  by  nature.  The  reason 
of  it  may  be  that  the  spirit  of  nature  is  always  so  majestical  and 
strong  that  to  cope  with  it  we  must  summon  within  ourselves 
the  sterner  and  grander  passions ;  which  are  usually  the  worser 
ones. 

But  now  the  scene  was  as  gentle  as  the  first  dream  of  Love  : 
it  was  calm  almost  to  religion.  It  was  an  holy  day.  To  such 
a  time  belonged  only 

Thoughts  as  pure  as  the  chaste  Morning's  breath, 
When  from  the  Night's  cold  arms  it  creeps  away. 

The  yellow  sunbeams,  shed  through  the  foliage  that  surrounded 
the  casements,  were  casting  a  latticed  light  upon  the  floor  of  my 
chamber,  and  the  vigorous  but  delicate  young  air  of  June  was 
floating  over  my  breast  with  a  gentle  rapture  of  joy,  and  glad 
dening  my  senses  with  the  inodorous  perfume  of  its  virgin  freshness. 
Except  the  occasional  chafing  of  the  branches  of  the  shrubbery 
in  the  garden,  when  the  soft  wooings  of  the  wanton  breeze  waxed 
stronger  than  might  beseem  their  gentleness,  no  sound  whatever 
disturbed  the  stillness  of  the  day.  I  lay  for  a  while  in  a  waking 
reverie  of  pleasant  feelings,  tasting  the  sweetness  of  the  morning 
health  and  breathing  placid  joy.  As  the  cool  wind  played  about 
my  limbs,  and  its  mild  inspiration  thrilled  more  and  more  through 
my  frame,  the  tide  of  life  swelled  with  the  Sowings  of  the  foun 
tains  of  the  air.  I  arose,  and,  dressing  myself,  walked  towards 
the  casement  to  look  out  at  the  beauty  of  the  bright-robed  sum 
mer.  I  was  inhabiting  an  ancient  palace  on  the  brow  of  an  emi 
nence,  which  commanded  the  distant  vallies  and  the  neighboring 
sea.  The  grounds  stretched  far  along  the  shore,  and  were  marked 


;ETAT.  20.]  BEAUTY  OF  CYPRUS.  377 

by  varied  and  enchanting  beauty.  The  unfathomed  morning, 
spreading  through  the  air,  had  dappled  the  shadeless  blue  with 
its  faint  featherings  of  hazy  light ;  and  the  long  and  definite  sha 
dows  lay  upon  the  ground  as  if  they  had  been  carved  for  ages  in 
unchanging  ebony.  There  was  a  Sabbath  feeling  in  the  time, 
and  almost  I  could  persuade  myself  that  I  was  standing  in  some 
quiet  rectory  in  religious  England.  Fancy  acting  upon  this 
suggestion,  carried  me  back  to  my  native  country,  and  to  scenes 
which  had  passed  away  with  long-past  times.  I  seemed  to  stand, 
as  in  a  dream,  on  the  porch  of  my  father's  house,  with  my  pa 
rents  and  my  sisters  beside  me.  I  drew  a  sofa  towards  the  win 
dow,  and  reclining  upon  it,  indulged  the  memorizing  dreams  that 
pressed  upon  my  heart.  Upon  the  view  before  me  was  stamped 
the  intensity  of  peace ;  and  as,  with  a  spirit  yet  too  tender  to 
cope  the  interests  and  hopes  of  the  active  world,  I  sympathized 
keenly  with  the  holiness  of  the  scene,  my  soul  yearned  for  that 
domestic  affection  to  whose  white  hand  the  golden  key  of  life's 
fullest  and  most  satisfactory  joy  is  given.  It  seemed  to  me  as 
if  I  had  left  my  father's  house  but  yesterday,  as  if  I  was  again  a 
child,  privileged  to  ask  for  boundless  love,  and  beneath  all  the 
wearisome  restraints  of  appearance  and  opinion.  I  seemed  to 
have  returned  to  that  state  of  infantile  inexperience  in  which  the 
world  appeared  to  be  a  visible  sphere  external  to  my  knowledge. 
With  what  earnestness  I  longed  to  renew  that  happy  state 
around  me,  as  I  had  restored  its  feelings  within  me  1  What 
would  I  not  have  given  to  exchange  the  flickering  and  unsteady 
brilliance  of  those  attachments  which  accident  might  hereafter 
promise  for  the  tried  certainties  of  natural  affection,  for  that  so 
licitude  which  we  know  must  wait  upon  consanguinity  for  its 
own  satisfaction, — for  love  without  passion,  interest  without  ex 
citement, — devotion  that  does  not  look  for  gratitude !  Not  with 
thought,  nor  with  study,  nor  with  hope,  but  with  suffering  does 
wisdom  dwell.  Long  years  of  sad  experience  must  pass  over  us, 
ere  we  learn  that  nature  is  wiser  than  our  heart,  and  that  duty 
is  a  kinder  monitor  than  hope.  We  must  be  mocked  by  the  de 
luding  revelry  of  pleasure,  and  cheated  by  the  false  fires  of  un 
stable  fondness,  before  we  can  perceive  that  the  only  perfect  love 
32* 


378  FRAGMENT AL  LITERARY  DISQUISITIONS.        [^ETAT.  20. 

on  earth  is  that  which  glows  in  those  eyes  that  have  kept  watch 
above  our  cradle.  Alas  I  that  the  knowledge  should  come  when 
the  blessing  has  departed  I 

I  found  in  Cyprus  a  friend  of  my  college  life,  Charles  Maynard 
with  whom  in  that  pleasant  season  I  had  passed  nearly  three 
years  as  a  class  companion.  Like  myself,  he  was  a  lover  of  let 
ters,  a  man  of  leisure,  and  a  lover  of  travel :  and,  guided  by  simi 
lar  influences  no  doubt,  we  found  ourselves,  by  a  coincidence  at 
once  very  singular  and  very  natural,  sojourners  alike  beneath  the 
skies  of  the  Mediterranean,  and  worshiping  in  Cyprus  at  the  altar 
of  its  beauty.  We  resolved  to  visit  in  company  portions  of 
this  delightful  island.  That  we  might  escape  the  greater  heats 
which  in  those  latitudes  are  sometimes  oppressive,  we  rose  at  an 
early  hour  for  our  visit  to  the  Yilla  Angelani,  distant  about  a 
half  day's  ride.  [The  rest  of  this  MS.  is  wanting.] 


MISCELLANEOUS    PIECES. 


LIFE. 

"MAN,"  says  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  "is  a  noble  animal  I 
splendid  in  ashes,  glorious  in  the  grave ;  solemnizing  nativities 
and  funerals  with  equal  lustre,  and  not  forgetting  ceremonies  of 
bravery  in  the  infamy  of  his  nature  1"  Thus  spake  one  who 
mocked,  while  he  wept,  at  man's  estate,  and  gracefully  tempered 
the  high  scoffings  of  philosophy  with  the  profound  compassion 
of  religion.  As  the  sun's  proudest  moment  is  his  latest,  and  as 
the  forest  puts  on  its  brightest  robe  to  die  in,  so  does  man  sum 
mon  ostentation  to  invest  the  hour  of  his  weakness,  and  pride 
survives  when  power  has  departed  ;  and  what,  we  may  ask,  does 
this  instinctive  contempt  for  the  honors  of  the  .dead  proclaim, 
except  the  utter  vanity  of  the  glories  of  the  living  ?  for  mean 
indeed  must  be  the  real  state  of  man,  and  false  the  vast  assump 
tions  of  his  life,  when  the  poorest  pageantry  of  a  decent  burial 
strikes  upon  the  heart  as  a  mockery  of  helplessness.  Certain  it 
is  that  pomp  chiefly  waits  upon  the  beginning  and  the  end  of 
life  ;  what  lies  between,  may  either  raise  a  sigh  or  wake  a  laugh, 
for  it  mostly  partakes  of  the  littleness  of  one  and  the  sadness  of 

the  other. 

•« 

Human  life  is  like  a  dream  in  the  after-dinner  sleep  of  a 
demon,  in  which  an  image  of  heaven  is  interrupted  by  a  vision 
of  hell ;  a  thought  of  bliss  breaks  off  to  give  place  to  a  fancy 
of  horror,  and  the  fragments  of  happiness  and  discomfort  lie 
mingled  together  in  a  confusion  which  would  be  ridiculous  if  it 
were  not  awful.  The  monuments  of  man's  blessedness  and  of 
man's  wretchedness  lie  side  by  side ;  we  cannot  look  for  the 

(379) 


380  MISCELLANEOUS    PIECES.  [MiAT.21. 

one  without  discovering  the  other.  The  echo  of  joy  is  the  moan 
of  despair,  and  the  cry  of  anguish  is  stifled  in  rejoicing.  To 
make  a  monarch,  there  must  be  slaves,  and  that  one  may  triumph, 
many  must  be  weak. 

"Who  is  married  ?"  said  the  gay  and  thoughtless  Emma,  as 
she  took  up  that  important  chronicle  of  passing  events,  The 
Daily  Times.  "  Married,  on  Wednesday  morning,  at  the  resi 
dence  of  her  father,  in  Wiltshire,  the  Honorable  Lady  Char 
lotte  Howard,  to  Captain  Beauclerk,  of  the  Royal  Navy ;"  and 
the  reader  passed  on. 

Six  months  afterwards  the  servant  put  into  the  same  hands 
the  same  gazette.  "  Who  is  dead  ?"  said  the  fair  querist,  as  she 
opened  the  expansive  pages.  "  Died,  on  Wednesday  morning, 
at  the  residence  of  her  husband,  in  Wiltshire,  the  Honorable 
Lady  Charlotte  Beauclerk,  in  the  21st  year  of  her  age;"  and 
the  reader  passed  on. 

Thus  did  the  world  notice  and  forget  the  two  events  :  yet  in 
the  simple  record  of  that  marriage  and  that  burial,  there  resided 
what  might  startle  the  voluptuary  in  the  midst  of  his  delights, 
and  what  the  hermit  might  ponder  in  the  loneliness  of  his  cell. 
I  was  at  the  house  of  feasting  and  at  the  house  of  mourning.  I 
saw  the  bride  in  the  spring-blossom  of  her  loveliness,  and  beheld 
the  narrow  coffin  that  housed  her  till  eternity. 

The  painter  who  searches  earth  and  heaven  for  shapes  of 
beauty  to  invest  the  loved  Madonna  of  his  toil,  is  not  visited  in 
his  twilight  musings  by  face  more  exquisite  than  was  hers.  An 
Arab,  had  he  found  her  by  a  fountain  in  the  desert,  would  have 
bowed  in  speechless  wonder ;  he  would  have  enshrined  her  deli 
cately  in  a  crystal  niche,  and  offered  his  daily  worship  to  the 
image,  and  never  thought  of  love — she  was  so  fair. 

With  the  fortunes  of  one  who  was  rich  in  all  that  makes  life 
enviable,  she  was  about  to  mingle  the  gentle  current  of  her  fate, 
blessing  and  to  be  blessed.  Around  the  scene  of  her  bridal,  as 
it  now  rises  before  me,  there  seemed  to  float,  as  it  were,  an 
atmosphere  of  delight — a  perfume  of  happiness  shed  from  the 
bright  object  who  was  the  marvel  of  the  time.  As  she  stood 
before  the  priest,  in  her  father's  ancestral  hall,  in  the  elegant  timi- 


-STAT.  21.]  LIFE.  381 

dity  of  patrician  refinement,  surrounded  by  the  high-born  and 
the  illustrious,  fancy  could  not  picture  a  being  more  favored,  or 
a  destiny  more  brilliant.  Her  glance  was  a  memory  of  joys  ;  her 
smiles  a  prophecy  of  bliss.  Long  and  cloudless  must  be  the 
summer-day  that  waits  on  a  morning  so  splendid  as  this  ! 

A  few  months  afterwards  I  had  returned  from  a  short  tour  to 
the  continent,  and,  without  stopping  in  the  metropolis,  I  went 
down  to  fulfil  an  engagement  which  I  had  made  to  visit  the 
young  couple  in  the  country.  I  left  the  road  a  few  miles  from 
the  house,  and  walked  over  the  fields,  for  the  day  was  delightful, 
and  the  rural  scene  showed  full  of  charms.  When  I  reached 
the  park,  I  met  an  old  servant  of  the  family,  whom  I  had  long 
remembered.  "  Well,  John,"  said  I,  "  and  how  is  your  young 
mistress  ?"  "I  am  grieved  to  say,  sir,"  said  the  old  man,  in  a 
husky  voice,  and  a  tear  gathering  in  his  eye,  "  I  am  grieved  to 
say,  sir,  that  she  died  last  night."  "Died!"  cried  I,  in  utter 
amazement,  almost  staggering  with  the  shock,  and  overcome 
with  a  sickness  of  heart  which  I  cannot  describe — "  Good  God  ! 
can  life  never  blunder  into  satisfaction  ?  This  incessant  tale 
of  disappointment  is  a  story  too  commonplaced  to  be  listened  to 
—too  regular  to  be  believed  !" 

It  was  a  brief  and  ordinary  tale  of  life  and  death  ;  but  brief 
and  common  as  it  was,  it  started  feelings  which  philosophy  could 
not  compose,  and  waked  thoughts  which  religion  herself  but 
dubiously  resolved. 

There  is  a  moral  to  this  history  of  life,  which  no  language 
has  yet  been  able  to  bring  out,  and  which,  perhaps,  no  mind  will 
ever  be  capable  of  embracing  in  its  fulness.  All  our  remarks, 
though  struck  out  of  the  heart  by  impetuous  anguish,  sink  in 
expression  to  the  merest  commonplace.  The  sage  explores  the 
realms  of  thought,  and  the  poet  dives  in  the  remotest  depths 
of  language,  for  adequate  reflections,  and  they  both  come  back 
to  the  simplest  dialect  of  the  street,  as  being  all  they  can  say. 
A  grief  falls  upon  us,  whose  magnitude,  we  think,  might  shake 
the  world,  and  our  fullest  comment  is  a  shake  of  the  head  or  a 
motion  of  the  hand. 

I  stood  in  Windsor  Castle  when  the  coffin  of  the  third  George 


382  MTSCELLANEOTJS    PIECES.  [.ETAT.  21. 


was  borne  to  its  vault.  The  longest  and  the  brightest  reign 
recorded  in  any  annals  was  concluded;  all  that  could  elevate 
and  bless  humanity,  in  the  tributes  of  power,  the  offerings  of 
wealth,  the  esteem  of  the  wise,  and  the  affection  of  the  good, 
had  waited  on  his  life  ;  and  to  dignify  the  closing  scene,  prince 
and  peer,  the  lords  of  genius  and  the  ministers  of  virtue  were 
assembled  in  the  imposing  pomp  of  power  and  the  majestic 
splendor  of  distinction.  Yet,  with  all,  how  ordinary  was  that 
life  and  how  ordinary  was  that  character  !  Focus  of  all  the 
brightest  rays  that  permeate  the  universe,  he  trod  the  common 
earth,  a  common  man.  To  my  thought,  this  history  of  a  great 
good  man,  this  record  of  power  used  and  not  abused,  of 
merit  always  rewarded,  excellence  always  protected,  talent 
always  fostered,  and  religion  always  respected,  spoke  a  pro- 
founder  commentary  upon  the  utter  vanity  of  life  than  the  glar 
ing  failures  of  a  Charles  or  a  Boabdil.  I  had  pondered  these 
things,  and  was  now  gazing  on  the  mockery  of  the  funeral  pa 
geant,  and  knew  that  a  knell  was  then  sounding  throughout 
England  which  would  arrest  the  steps  of  the  thoughtful,  and 
melt  the  hearts  of  the  feeling  ;  yet  what  could  I  say,  what  could 
I  even  feel,  commensurate  with  the  demand  of  the  scene  ? 

I  stood  by  chance  at  a  window  in  London,  and  saw  the  re 
mains  of  Lord  Byron  pass  by  on  their  way  to  the  parish  church 
yard.  He  who  had  spurned  all  accepted  usage,  and  sedulously 
scorned  established  habit,  was  borne  along  like  the  humblest 
citizen  to  rest  in  an  obscure  grave,  like  the  lowest  peasant  of 
the  fields.  He  whose  temper  had  defied  a  nation,  and  whose 
genius  had  held  high  war  with  truth  and  virtue,  and  come  from 
the  contest  not  ingloriously,  was  jolting  along  the  street  like 
the  carcass  of  a  dog,  and  what  could  man  do  ? 

It  is  recorded  of  both  Merlin  and  Zoroaster,  that  as  soon  as 
they  were  born  they  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter  —  the  quack  and 
the  philosopher.  And  in  sooth  the  world  seems  to  be  but  a 
material  sneer.  Of  God  considered  purely  as  Creator,  every  act 
and  motion  must  be  creative  ;  I  imagine  that  a  smile  awoke  the 
angels  from  nothingness,  and  that  man  was  laughed  into  being. 
Life  seems  perpetually  burlesquing  itself,  and  one-half  of  exist- 


.  21.]  LIFE. 

ence  is  a  running  parody  on  the  other.  On  the  stage  the  farce 
succeeds  the  tragedy ;  off,  they  are  mingled  in  alternate  scenes. 

To  one  limiting  his  belief  within  the  bounds  of  his  observa 
tion,  and  "  reasoning"  but  from  what  he  "  knows,"  the  condi 
tion  of  man  presents  mysteries  which  thought  cannot  explain. 
The  dignity  and  the  destiny  of  man  seem  utterly  at  variance. 
He  turns  from  contemplating  a  monument  of  genius  to  inquire 
for  the  genius  which  produced  it,  and  finds  that  while  the  work 
has  survived,  the  workman  has  perished  for  ages.  The  meanest 
work  of  man  outlives  the  noblest  work  of  God.  The  sculptures 
of  Phidias  endure,  where  the  dust  of  the  artist  has  vanished 
from  the  earth.  Man  can  immortalize  all  things  but  himself. 

But,  for  my  own  part,  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  our  high 
estimation  of  ourselves  is  the  grand  error  in  our  account. 
Surely,  it  is  argued,  a  creature  so  ingeniously  fashioned  and  so 
bountifully  furnished,  has  not  been  created  but  for  lofty  ends. 
But  cast  your  eye  on  the  humblest  rose  of  the  garden,  and  it 
may  teach  a  wiser  lesson.  There  you  behold  contrivance  and 
ornament — in  every  leaf  the  finest  veins,  the  most  delicate  odor, 
and  a  perfume  exquisite  beyond  imitation  ;  yet  all  this  is  but  a 
toy — a  plaything  of  nature  ;  and  surely  she  whose  resources  are 
so  boundless  that  upon  the  gaud  of  a  summer  day  she  can  throw 
away  such  lavish  wealth,  steps  not  beyond  her  commonest  toil 
when  she  forms  of  the  dust  a  living  man.  When  will  man  learn 
the  lesson  of  his  own  insignificance  ? 

Immortal  man!  thy  blood  flows  freely  and  fully,  and  thou 
standest  a  Napoleon  ;  thou  reclinest  a  Shakspeare  !  it  quickens 
its  movement,  and  thou  liest  a  parched  and  fretful  thing,  with 
thy  mind  furied  by  the  phantoms  of  fever !  it  retards  its  action 
but  a  little,  and  thou  crawlest  a  crouching,  soulless  mass,  the 
bright  world  a  blank,  dead  vision  to  thine  eye.  Verily,  0  man, 
thou  art  a  glorious  and  godlike  being ! 

Tell  life's  proudest  tale  ;  what  is  it  ?  A  few  attempts  success 
less  ;  a  few  crushed  or  mouldered  hopes ;  much  paltry  fretting ; 
a  little  sleep,  and  the  story  is  concluded ;  the  curtain  falls — the 
farce  is  over. 

The  world  is  not  a  place  to  live  in,  but  to  die  in.     It  is  a 


384  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  [^TAT.  20. 

house  that  has  but  two  chambers ;  a  lazar  and  a  charnel — room 
only  for  the  dying  and  the  dead.  There  is  not  a  spot  on  the 
broad  earth  on  which  man  can  plant  his  foot  and  affirm  with 
confidence,  "  no  mortal  sleeps  beneath  1" 

Seeing  then  that  these  things  are,  what  shall  we  say?  Shall 
we  exclaim  with  the  gay-hearted  Grecian,  "  Drink  to-day,  for 
to-morrow  we  are  not  ?"  Shall  we  calmly  float  down  the  cur 
rent,  smiling  if  we  can,  silent  when  we  must,  lulling  cares  to 
sleep  by  the  music  of  gentle  enjoyment,  and  passing  dream-like 
through  a  land  of  dreams  ?  No  1  dream-like  as  is  our  life,  there 
is  in  it  one  reality — our  DUTY.  Let  us  cling  to  that,  and  distress 
may  overwhelm  but  cannot  disturb  us — may  destroy  but  cannot 
hurt  us ;  the  bitterness  of  earthly  things,  and  the  shortness  of 
earthly  life  will  cease  to  be  evils,  and  begin  to  be  blessings. 
"  Eheu!  fugaces,  Postliume,  Posthume  labuntur  anni!"  says  the 
Koman.  But  there  is  no  "  Ekeu  /"  to  the  Christian. 


A  SERMON  IN  A  GARDEN. 

"Lessons  sweet  of  spring  returning, 

Welcome  to  the  thoughtful  heart, 
May  I  call  ye  sense  or  warning, 

Instinct  pure  or  heaven-taught  art?" — KEBLE. 

"AND  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  yourself  this  Sunday 
afternoon?"  said  a  fair  "church-going  belle,"  who  happened  to 
be  passing  a  week  in  summer,  at  the  same  pleasant  villa  with 
myself. 

" Pardon  me,"  said  I,  "I  am  going  to  church,  as  well  as  your 
self,  though  not,  I  confess,  to  hear  the  same  minister  that  you 
are ;"  and  I  took  my  hat  and  walked  into  the  garden. 

"I  know  not  why  it  is,"  said  I  to  myself,  as  I  drew  on  my 
thread  gloves,  and  took  my  way  along  the  gravelled  walk,  "  that 
persons  should  think  that  'God'  is  only  'in  his  Holy  Temple.' 
Doubtless  his  presence  is  vouchsafed  within  the  walls  of  temples 
made  with  hands ;  and  whenever  men  are  '  gathered  together  in 


.  20.]  SERMON  IN  A  GARDEN.  385 

his  name.'  And  such  assembling  of  ourselves  ought  not  to  be 
forsaken.  But  he  may  be  seen  in  the  earth,  and  seen  in  the  sky, 
and  all  creation's  forms  are  frost-worked  with  his  love.  The  Pro 
vidence  of  God,  as  it  seemeth  to  me,  hath  in  nothing  been  more 
bounteous  than  in  the  rich  provision  which  hath  been  made  for 
nurturing  our  moral  being  by  the  food  of  moral  wisdom.  Upon 
all  the  shapes  of  earth,  and  all  the  shows  of  life,  there  is  cha 
ractered  a  moral ;  instruction  is  wrapped  like  a  garment  around 
all  the  state  of  man,  and  blooms  like  a  rose  upon  the  front  of 
Nature.  Each  of  the  thousand  little  dramas  that  are  daily 
rounded  in  the  great  scene  of  human  life,  folds  up  its  grave  con 
clusion  ;  and  Time  is  daily  chiselling  the  couplets  of  wisdom  on 
the  adamant  of  the  past,  in  ineffaceable  events,  so  that  experience 
hath  become  a  great  pyramid,  carved  all  over  with  the  hierogly 
phics  of  knowledge.  Wisdom,  too,  is  the  spirit  of  the  inani 
mate  world ;  instruction  is  lapped  in  the  perfumes  of  the  flowers, 
and  mingles  its  voice  with  the  chantings  of  the  brooks ;  it  finds 
a  pulpit  on  every  hill,  and  makes  a  tent  of  every  leaf. 

"  But  there  is  this  difference  between-  the  benefits  of  Nature 
and  those  of  experience,"  continued  I,  taking  a  distinction  where 
I  had  at  first  perceived  but  a  resemblance.  "  Counsel  must  be 
wrung  from  the  folds  of  observation,  and  struck  from  the  close 
fist  of  History ;  we  must  wrestle  with  the  angel  of  the  past,  ere 
he  will  impart  his  blessing  :  whereas  it  is  freely  exhaled  by  Na- 
tnre,  and  floats  like  a  summer  odor  around  the  gardens  of  all 
creation.  Mingle  but  among  the  forms  of  Nature,  trees  and 
flowers,  and  flowing  streams,  and  your  soul  will  partake  of  the 
purity  and  freshness  wherewith  she  has  invested  all  the  subjects 
of  her  kingdom.  For,  as  on  the  faces  of  the  flowers,  there  glow 
no  colors  but  those  which  they  have  seen  in  the  heavens — the 
sapphire  of  the  sky,  the  opal  of  the  stars,  the  ruby  of  the 
orient  clouds — so  are  all  the  thoughts  which  they  suggest,  and 
the  feelings  which  they  inspire,  tinged  with  the  sanctity  of 
heavenly  light.  The  breath  of  the  violet's  eye  is  peace ;  the 
smile  of  the  rose's  cheek  is  innocence.  There  is  great  benefit 
in  being  conversant  with  pure  and  genial  thoughts,  as  there  is 
great  bane  in  breathing  the  atmosphere  of  foul  ones ;  by  com- 
33 


386  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

munion  with  generous  and  clean  imaginations,  the  tone  of  the 
desires  is  insensibly  purified,  and  the  vigor  of  the  virtuous  affec 
tions  imperceptibly  strengthened. 

"  Wisdom  is  daily  crying  aloud  in  the  business  of  the  streets, 
and  voicing  the  stillness  of  the  forest  with  her  teachings ;  yet 
where  is  this  knowledge  garnered,  and  where  are  these  lessons 
recorded  ?  They  perish  not,  for  the  spirit  of  wisdom,  as  the 
spirit  of  life,  is  immortal.  Where,  too,  are  the  forgotten  thoughts 
of  man — his  evanished  fancies  ?  Have  they  become  spirits  ?  And 
are  they  now  winged  with  a  life  of  their  own  ?  Will  they  greet  us 
as  we  enter  eternity  ?  And  will  our  future  be  colored  by  their 
complexion  ? 

"  Doubtless,"  thought  I,  seating  myself  upon  the  grass,  "doubt 
less  much  of 

'The  gentle  moral  of  the  gale, 
And  wisdom  written  in  the  tulip's  dye/ 

lies  in  that  splendid  world  of  unthought  ideas  and  unseen  per 
ceptions.  But  while  upon  the  ear  of  our  inner  spirit  there  swells 
a  symphony  of  thoughtful  feelings,  it  may  be  permitted  to  our 
mind  to  spell  out  in  stuttered  syllables  some  fragments  of  that 
song. 

"  When  man  for  a  moment  stills  the  tossings  of  his  heart,  and 
curbs  the  sallyings  of  his  restless  temper  to  listen  to  the  gentle 
music  of  fair  flowers,  their  chorussed  whisper  is,  '  Be  calm — be 
quiet  V  What  a  lesson  of  counsel,  and  what  a  suggestion  of  grace 
is  that  I  Quiet  is  the  element  of  wisdom.  The  calmest  man  is 
the  wisest.  For  the  mind  is  a  coral-stone,  around  which  thoughts 
•cluster  silently  in  stillness,  but  are  scared  away  by  tumult.  Men 
in  this  time  are  spurring  invention,  and  agitating  all  the  waters 
of  knowledge  ;  whereas  the  effort  of  the  truly  philosophic  mind 
still  is  to  look  at  its  subject  in  the  calmest  manner.  Peace  is 
the  parent  of  patient  thought — of  passionless  judgment ;  and  if 
the  calm  suggestion  of  the  flower  could  be  uttered  in  the  ear  of 
the  heated  politician,  the  restless  religionist,  the  enthusiast 
scholar,  they  would  receive  the  holiest  counsel  that  yet  had 
visited  their  thinkings.  It  is  not  asked  that  in  the  drear  air  of 


20.]  SERMON  IN  A  GARDEN.  387 

stillness,  keener  thought  should  be  exerted,  or  wider  scope  be 
given  to  the  purpose  ;  peace  is  itself  a  voice  of  wisdom,  and  quiet 
is  a  robed  prophet  from  on  high.  Old  fables  tell  that  when  des 
cended  deities,  disguised  in  flesh,  mingled  in  assemblies  of  men, 
they  were  still  recognised  by  the  unmoving  eye-ball ;  and  the 
legend  shadows  the  essential  calmness  of  divinity.  In  literature, 
and  in  philosophy,  whether  human  or  heavenly,  mark  where  the 
star  of  peace  is  shining,  and  beneath  its  crest  you  will  find 
cradled  the  kingliest  knowledge,  the  whitest  sanctity,  the  mightiest 
power.  In  things  mortal,  and  in  things  divine,  the  spirit  of 
wisdom  descendeth  like  a  dove.  Mistrust  as  well  the  strength 
as  the  honesty  of  the  ever  acting  ;  respect  the  counsel  and  revere 
the  goodness  of  the  quiet  and  the  still.  In  the  throng  of  them 
that  have  pretensions  to  be  the  spirit  of  God  in  the  form  of  man, 
we  see  many  a  piercing  eye,  and  many  a  jewelled  hand,  and  many 
a  sceptred  arm  ;  we  see  but  one  whose  brow  is  crowned  with  the 
light  of  peace. 

"  When  I  say  that  peace  is  a  conservative  of  piety,  and  an  in 
spiration  of  the  moral  perception,  I  say  but  what  holy  writings 
every  where  declare.  It  is  a  revelation  to  the  heart — an  illumi 
nation  of  the  mind  in  things  divine :  '  Be  still,  and  know  that  I 
am  God,'  said  the  spirit  on  high  ;  '  The  peace  of  God  preserve 
thee  in  the  knowledge  and  love  of  God,'  says  that  ancient  prayer, 
the  prayer  of  Christian  benediction  :  indicating  that  that  quiet  is 
a  sympathetic  mirror  of  the  truths  of  heaven,  furnishing,  what 
Archbishop  Leighton  has  finely  called,  '  an  inexpressible  kind 
of  evidence'  of  the  reality  of  faith,  an  evidence  that  all  may  feel 
but  none  communicate.  Against  evil  passions,  habitual  calmness 
is  the  best  preservative,  for,  if  the  storm  of  excitement  be  once 
roused,  even  in  the  cause  of  virtue,  none  can  tell  whither  it  will 
blow.  '  Commune  with  your  own  heart,  in  your  chamber,1'  says 
the  royal  harper  of  Israel,  'and  be  still.' 

"  In  action,  as  well  as  in  thought,  the  man  who  has  learned  to 
pause,  has  learned  the  last  and  highest  lesson  which  wisdom  has 
to  teach.  In  worldly  things,  I  need  not  dwell  upon  the  value 
of  this  counsel :  but  in  that  warfare  which  on  earth  never  ceases, 
it  is  equally  precious.  Christian  man  !  thou  hast  often  felt  that 


388  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  [^TAT.  20. 


in  thy  safest  moods  some  strong  temptation  has  come  upon  thee, 
and  wrestled  with  thy  spirit,  and  disquieted  thee,  and  the  vexa 
tion  of  spirit  which  it  wrought  has  made  thee  reckless,  and  thou 
hast  fallen.  The  struggle  was  momentary,  although  bitter  ;  thou 
wast  struck  down  by  a  blow.  When  thou  art  again  assailed,  re 
member  my  words.  Pause,  and  the  temptation  will  pass  from 
thee  ;  be  still  for  a  moment,  and  that  stillness  will  be  thy  salva 
tion  ! 

"  The  sin  which  assaults  thee,  seems  to  thee  sweet,  and  thou 
thinkest  that  it  will  be  always  so,  that  to  vanquish  it  were  hard,  to 
live  without  it  were  a  dreary  prospect.  But  pause,  and  thy  mood 
will  change  ;  thy  appetites  are  corrupted  by  the  proximity  of 
evil  thought  ;  let  it  slip  from  thy  mind,  and  the  craving  for  it 
will  fall  with  it.  It  is  only  in  their  first  rankness,  in  their  pant 
ing  novelty,  that  sins  have  a  force  to  paralyze  the  will  and  melt 
down  the  moral  purpose  ;  if  thou  canst  make  them  wait  two 
breathings  at  the  door,  they  will  fade  and  fall  to  earth.  The 
first  moment  of  attack  is  not  the  moment  to  put  forth  thy 
strength  ;  thy  vigor  is  then  racked  by  the  keenness  of  temptation  : 
but  pause,  and  by  that  recuperation  of  vigor  in  repose,  which  is 
a  law  of  both  the  physical  and  the  moral  life,  thy  energy  will  be 
augmented  and  concentered,  and  with  one  sally  thou  wilt  dis 
perse  the  foe. 

"  The  contemplation  of  flowers  opens  to  us  other  ends  and  ob 
jects  of  existence,  than  those  that  lie  in  the  open  view  and 
worldly  recognition  of  mankind,  and  teach  the  great  lesson 
of  contentment.  In  many  a  lonely  vale  and  many  a  hidden  nook, 
there  flowers  and  fades  a  gem,  whose  beauty  has  drawn  forth  the 
choicest  wealth  of  heaven,  and  which,  to  mortal  seeming,  was 
only  framed  to  lie  along  the  breast  of  love,  or  nod  above  the 
regal  brow  of  beauty  ;  yet  where  it  waved,  it  wanes  ;  no  mortal 
eye  hath  ever  sparkled  o'er  its  splendor,  and  on  earth  no  record 
lives  of  its  exceeding  fairness.  Yet  not  in  vain  did  it  pass 
through  the  silent  mystery  of  birth,  nor  can  its  placid  smile  be 
saddened  by  reproach  of  uselessness  :  such  marvellous  skill  the 
All-wise  would  never  waste,  and  if  he  formed,  he  first  had  fixed 
a  purpose  ;  yet  in  the  world's  valuables  that  flower  had  passed 


.  20.]  SERMON  IN  A  GARDEN. 

uninventoried.  Hence,  stranger,  if  the  world  shower  her  pearl 
and  gold  wide  of  thy  dreary  path,  and  if  the  voice  of  praise  or 
sympathy  come  never  nigh  thee,  nor  conscious  proof  of  usefulness 
console  thy  life,  and  thou  thinkest  that  thy  being  is  divorced  from 
purpose,  yet  be  not  disquieted :  fret  not  thy  gentle  fancy  with 
such  thought :  thy  breathing  has  its  benefit.  The  lonely  flower 
is  telling  thee  that  God  is  pleased  with  that  which,  in  its  ap 
pointed  place,  but  buds,  and  blooms  and  dies ;  it  lives  to  show 
thee,  that  while  the  whirlwind  executeth  wrath,  and  the  breeze 
conveyeth  mercy,  those  'also  serve,  who  only  stand  and  wait.' 
Possess  thy  soul  in  peace ;  ripple  not  the  current  of  thy  years 
by  pining  or  regret,  for  he  that  fashioned  thee  in  secret,  'curiously 
wrought  thee  in  continuance,'  sees  a  use  in  thy  existence. 

"Tis  Nature's  law  that  nothing  shall  exist 
Divorced  from  good — a  spirit  and  a  pulse  of  good. 
A  life  and  soul  to  every  mode  of  being 
Inseparably  linked ! 

"The  white  feet  of  the  moonlight  gliding  on  the  lonely  Ararat 
— the  music  of  the  wind  that  sighs  among  the  ice-cliffs  of  Arctic 
desolations — the  desert  spring  that  hath  never  moistened  a 
mortal  lip — all,  all  are  useful  in  their  great  Creator's  eye.  In 
the  orchestral  harmony  of  being,  they  make  up  the  full-chan 
nelled  stream  of  praise ; — they  swell  the  columned  incense  that 
daily  voyages  from  earth  to  heaven ;  they  are  a  feature  in  the 
world-mirrored  face  of  God.  So,  the  contentment  that  sits  and 
sings  by  its  own  grey  hearth,  and  the  armless,  voiceless  resigna 
tion,  that  rolls  its  coat  of  frieze  about  its  limbs  and  smiles — they 
'  bear  His  mild  yoke,'  and  bearing  it,  are  blessed.  Thou  who 
sighest  in  obscurity,  repress  these  rising  murmurs ;  sweeten  the 
air  with  calm  submission ;  and  let  the  watery  beams  of  Hope 
silver  the  stainless  element  of  Peace. 

"From  the  enfeebling  and  pernicious  distractions  of  externality 
we  may  in  some  measure  be  delivered  by  the  soothing  gentleness 
of  thoughts  a-field,  and  taught  a  quiet  inwardness  of  feeling. 
An  anxious  and  busy  conscience,  finding  that  it  has  a  work  to 
do,  looks  out  for  earnest  action,  forgetting  that  the  best  '  good 
work'  it  can  perform  is  to  preserve  its  own  garment  white,  and 
33* 


390  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  [JErAT.  20. 

to  keep  its  vestments  unspotted  from  the  world — to  calm  down 
its  own  passions — to  keep  its  own  will  resigned.  I  abhor  and 
deprecate  that  restless  rage  of  action,  that  incessant  enterprise, 
that  is  abroad  in  the  Christian  world — that  outwardness  of 
interest,  which  never  inquires  if  all  is  well  about  the  heart ;  it  ia 
the  opposite  of  'pure  and  undefiled  religion;'  it  begins  in  folly 
and  a  feeble  judgment,  and  it  ends  in  vanity,  presumption,  and 
self-righteousness.  It  forgets  those  high  and  solemn  duties 
which  every  man  owes  to  that  immortal  being — his  own  soul. 
Doth  not  the  prophet  rebuke  this  pious  frenzy  when  he  saith, — 
'  Thy  strength  is  to  sit  still  ?'  And  doth  not  the  apostle  disclaim 
these  works  when  he  saith — '  The  fruit  of  the  spirit  is  peace  V 
0,  that  the  Christian 

Would  pause  awhile  from  action,  to  be  wise ! 

"  Nothing  can  better  display  to  us  the  true  value  of  our  own 
state  and  nature  than  the  thought  of  that  world  which  is  walled 
within  a  garden.  When  from  the  heated  interests  of  life,  its 
breathless  anxieties,  its  leaden  cares,  we  turn  to  this  white-robed 
commonwealth  of  flowers,  and  behold  how  large  a  sphere  there 
is,  on  the  threshold  of  which  all  the  concerns  which  we  have 
weighed,  sink  into  naught,  the  burthen  of  those  cares  is  lightened, 
the  sting  of  those  anxieties  is  drawn.  When  we  see  how  large 
a  share  of  the  love  and  the  power  of  God,  is  hourly  shed  upon 
objects  from  which  man  is  shut  out,  we  see  how  small  a  space 
life  fills  in  the  broad  eye  that  scans  the  universe. 

"The  hourly  fading  of  the  brightest  flowers  shows  us  how 
valueless  is  their  existence,  and  may  teach  us  how  small  is  the 
claim  our  merit  gives  us.  Viewing  all  things  from  ourselves  as 
a  centre,  we  seem  to  occupy  the  foremost  ground  and  highest 
platform  of  creation,  and  think  that  the  arm  of  vengeance  will 
be  arrested  from  regard  to  our  eminence,  or,  in  truth,  to  our 
native  excellence.  Turn,  thou  that  measurest  with  the  high  and 
lofty  one  that  iuhabiteth  eternity,  and  that  thinkest  thyself  of 
consequence  to  him,  turn  to  the  lessons  of  the  withered  lily — the 
wisdom  of  the  drooping  rose.  Sparkling  beneath  the  morning 
Bun,  behold  a  city  of  delights  where  an  angel  might  refresh  his 


.  20.]  SERMON  IN  A  GARDEN.  391 

spirits,  and  a  seraph  make  glad  his  inmost  heart ;  where  skill  is 
lavished  in  unceasing  fulness,  and  the  music-breath  of  beauty  floats 
like  a  vapor  round  the  forms  of  grace.  If  earthly  thing,  unaided, 
could  win  his  love  or  gain  a  title  to  his  sparing  mercy,  it  were 
surely  this — the  only  mundane  thing  that  never  sinned.  But  in 
the  noontide  gladness  of  their  rarest  grace — in  the  summer 
sweetness  of  their  most  enchanting  loveliness — in  a  moment  he 
blots  out  their  being,  and  turns  their  beauty  to  darkness  and 
decay.  Let  us  learn  then  that  if  God  hath  no  need  of  '  his  own 
gifts,' neither  hath  he  of  'man's  work.'  Between  them  and  us 
it  is  but  a  difference  of  days  and  years. 

"  While  thus  their  present  splendor  bids  us  uncrest  our  pride, 
and  plant  the  knee  where  stood  the  foot,  so  will  their  sometime 
meanness  counsel  us  to  caution  how  we  use  contempt.  We  daily 
meet  with  those  in  whom  the  inner  and  diviner  life  of  man  is  no 
more  developed  than  is  the  eyelet  in  the  stone-dry  bulb,  or  the 
yet  ungreened  bud  upon  the  bush.  Yet,  reverence  mortality 
wherever  it  moves,  and  let  the  foot  of  scorn  come  never  near  to 
hurt  the  meanest  of  the  manly  race.  For  as  that  bulb  and  bush, 
stone-dry,  ungreened,  e'en  now  fold  up  unseen  within  their 
rudeness  the  perfect  flower  which  shall  deck  the  air,  so  in  the 
darkest,  rudest  breast,  there  lurks  a  soul — a  thing,  even  now, 
God-like  and  awful,  but  which,  anon,  will  gem  the  long  line  of 
Christ's  attendant  train.  The  cold  and  clod-like  savages  that 
chill  the  earth — they  are  but  angels  in  the  wintry  state.  He 
that  regrets  a  leafless  plant  may  be  scorning  that  which  shall 
win  him  love  from  them  he  loves ;  he  that  had  struck  the  goatherd 
of  Admetus,  had  smitten  the  sun-god.  As,  then,  the  time-for 
getting  seedsman  smells  the  orient  blossom  in  the  death-browned 
wood,  and  as  in  cottaged  humbleness  the  prophetic  eye  of  ma 
ternal  love  vails  to  the  sceptre  in  her  infant's  grasp,  so  let  the 
heart  of  faith  respect  a  seraph  in  each  mortal  form.  Contempt 
is  a  feeling  that  is  rarely  just,  and  never  wise :  however  degraded 
an  object  may  be,  until  thou  hast  thoroughly  known  all  its  his 
tory,  and  hast  clearly  seen  its  destiny,  thou  hast  no  right,  as  an 
honest  man,  to  despise,  and  none  then,  as  a  philosopher.  What 
thou  wouldst  scorn,  has  its  place  in  some  system :  and  he  that 


392  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  [.^TAT.  21. 

understands  the  elevation  of  the  statue,  will  never  sneer  at  the 
lowliness  of  the  pedestal. 

"  Such,"  I  continued  to  myself,  drawing  up  my  feet  as  I  felt 
the  ground  growing  damp  under  my  limbs,  "  into  such,  and  a 
thousand  other  hints  of  virtue,  might  this  scene  be  moralized. 
But  there  is  in  the  mere  atmosphere,  that  floats  around  these 
gentle  urns  of  loveliness,  a  draught  of  virtuous  power,  for  that 
atmosphere  is  a  mild  sadness. 

"  '  There  is  often  found,'  says  the  sweet  prophet  of  the  moral 
muse,  my  master  Wordsworth — 

'  There  is  often  found 

In  mournful  thoughts,  and  always  might  be  found, 
A  power,  to  virtue  friendly.' 

"  All  joy  and  complacency  tends  to  unnerve  and  enfeeble  the 
spirit,  and  all  saddening  thoughts  are  wholesome,  and  have  airs 
of  virtue  breathing  about  them.  And  when  gay  scenes  pass 
before  the  eyes,  and  the  heart  is  not  interested,  there  is  always 
raised  a  feeling  of  regret.  In  the  gladness  of  beauty,  the  aged 
heart's  second  sight  discerns  a  something  mournful,  and  the 
brightest  pageant,  when  the  hopes  are  elsewhere,  is  a  melancholy 
thing.  The  mere  ambition  of  the  scene  excites  these  pensive 
thoughts,  and  when  we  add  to  the  feeling  with  which  we  look 
on  flowers,  the  remembrance  of  their  evanescence,  the  conside 
ration  is  full-fraught  with  that  sorrow  which  leadeth  to  wisdom. 
As  they  fade  momently,  beneath  our  eyes,  let  the  young  and  the 
lovely  remember,  that  if  one  beauty  decks  their  front,  one  des 
tiny  binds  their  lives." 


RELIGION  AND    POETRY. 

THE  one  essential  characteristic  of  the  material  man  is  life, 
and  the  one  essential  characteristic  of  the  moral  man  is  religion. 
As  in  the  physical  system  there  are  two  sources  of  vitality — the 
heart  and  the  brain, — so  in  the  spiritual  system  there  are  two 


.  21.]  RELIGION   AND    POETRY.  393 

sources  of  piety — the  intellect  and  the  feelings.  As  in  the 
former  both  must  exist,  so  in  the  latter.  As  in  the  one  both 
must  be  distinct,  so  also  in  the  other. 

During  one  of  the  most  oppressive  summers  which  I  ever 
remember  to  have  felt  in  Persia,  I  left  Bacdat,  which  was  then 
my  residence,  to  aestivate  in  the  delicious  village  of  Soora,  a 
place  which  may  or  may  not  be  on  the  maps,  about  five  hours 
north  of  the  city.  Whatever  part  "the  love-crowning  roses  and 
the  "  rosy-crowned  loves"  of  the  place  might  have  had  in  carry 
ing  me  there,  the  pleasure  of  enjoying  the  society  of  decidedly  the 
most  intelligent  man  I  ever  met  with,  constituted  a  large  share 
of  the  inducement.  Our  cottages  were  in  two  vallies,  on  the  op 
posite  sides  of  a  respectable  hill,  and  as  to  accomplish  the  passage 
in  the  middle  of  the  day  was  a  thing  impossible,  we  paid  each 
other  alternate  visits  every  morning,  measuring  them  as  the 
pendulum  of  the  world  oscillates, — by  the  day.  One  morning, 
as  I  walked  down  his  side  of  the  hill,  I  saw  him  sitting  by  a 
fountain  before  his  door:  "Mirkaun !"  cried  I,  "what  is  your 
opinion  of  the  origin  of  evil  ?" 

"  Separation,"  answered  he,  and  he  monologized  till  sunset  in 
proof  of  his  position  that  all  moral  errors  arose  from  the  sepa 
ration  of  things  which  ought  to  be  united. 

The  next  day  when  he  called  on  me,  he  said,  as  soon  as  he 
came  within  speaking  distance,  "  H.,  what  is  your  opinion  of 
the  origin  of  evil  ?" 

"Union,"  answered  I ;  and  I  employed  the  day  in  demon 
strating  that  all  error  was  occasioned  by  the  union  of  principles 
which  ought  to  be  kept  separate. 

I  am  surprised,  by  the  by,  that  those  who  have  sought  for  the 
first  germ  and  cause  of  evil  in  the  universe,  have  not  rather 
looked  for  it  in  the  confusion,  division,  or  misapplication  of 
good,  than  attempted  to  refer  it  to  a  distinct  and  independent 
principle.  I  may  add,  that  when  I  met  my  companion  on  the 
following  morning,  he  asked  me  what  opinion  I  held  of  the 
merits  of  the  two  days'  discussion.  I  replied  that  either  was  a 
good  theory  as  theories  went,  but  that  the  truth  would  probably 
be  found  in  both  joined  together. 


394  MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.  [^ETAT.  21. 

"  True,"  replied  he,  "  and  that  proves  my  position." 
I  have  wandered  from  my  purpose,  which  was  to  remark  that 
the  true  cause  of  the  final  corruption  of  every  pure  religion,  and 
the  original  fault  of  every  impure  creed,  has  been  joining  with 
the  divine  and  systematic  portions  of  the  belief  matters  which, 
though  a  part  of  the  whole  scheme  of  religion,  were  yet  no  part 
of  the  assured  creed,  being,  in  fact,  implied  results  from  it,  or 
collateral  connections  with  it,  rather  than  definite  elements  of 
the  original  principle.  I  have  no  intention  to  develop  this  idea 
in  all  its  applications ;  that  belongs  to  a  work  which  yet  remains 
to  be  written  by  some  independent  thinker,  and  which,  when 
written,  will  be  the  most  valuable  addition  to  human  knowledge 
which  it  has  received  since  the  time  of  Bacon — "  The  History  of 
Religion."  I  am  only  wishing  to  indicate  the  effect  on  the 
pagan  and  Roman  Catholic  religions,  of  incorporating  feeling 
with  conviction,  and  the  propriety  of  keeping  them  asunder  in 
the  modern  Protestant  systems.  In  Greece,  religion  was  the 
natural  offspring  of  feeling ;  in  the  elder  Christian  world,  feel 
ing  was  the  adopted  issue  of  religion ;  the  two  matters  are  now 
separate  systems,  for  the  most  part,  and  should  be  so  entirely. 

The  delicate  Grecian,  placed  by  nature  in  the  land  of  beauty's 
chosen  seat,  amid  all  tender  and  impressive  influences,  felt  as  the 
child  of  nature  needs  must  feel  when  every  breeze  that  blew 
was  instinct  with  delight.  There  is  in  all  sentiment  something 
sacred ;  and  the  Greek,  following  the  mild  impulse  of  natural 
inclination,  deified  the  whole  system  of  his  feelings,  and  the 
wondrous  mythology  of  his  country  was  created.  Of  a  reli 
gion  thus  fashioned,  many  were  the  advantages.  The  earth  was 
a  consecrated  pantheon  ;  and  every  moving,  every  resting  thing, 
a  caryatic  or  columnar  support  of  the  divine  entablature. 
Wherever  he  looked  were  altars — wherever  he  listened  was  the 
chant  of  praise. — wherever  he  tended,  spread  a  chancellated 
ground.  In  every  spot  was  seen  a  God,  or  the  garments  of  a 
God ;  mementoes  of  adoration  were  every  where  abounding. 
From  off  the  morning  hills  the  sheeted  mists  arose  with  silent 
pomp  of  homage  ;  and  with  a  gentle  burst  of  holy  joy  the  bub 
bling  fountain  bounded  to  the  earth.  The  commonest  act  of 


21.]  RELIGION  AND   POETRY.  395 

life  was  worship ;  for  over  all  a  deity  held  sway,  and  aureoled 
all  with  piety.  It  was  the  peculiar  blessing  of  this  creed  that 
there  was  nothing,  and  there  were  none,  beneath  religion ;  the 
lowliest  feeling  had  its  warder  in  the  skies ;  and  the  chosen  re 
presentative  of  every  sentiment  being  but  an  exalted  man,  always 
retained  a  sympathy  with  humanity.  When  the  timorous  ma 
riner  called  upon  the  name  of  Neptune,  or,  gazing  on  the  low 
ering  sky,  sighed  for  the  aid  of  the  storm-assuaging  brothers, 
he  felt  that  his  hopes  were  suspended  from  them  by  the  chain  of 
a  common  nature.  When  the  warrior,  about  to  loose  the  dart, 
or  lanch  the  spear,  cried  to  "the  God  of  the  Silver  Bow,"  he 
knew  that  while  his  patron  had  the  power  of  an  Olympian,  he 
had  the  feelings  of  an  honest  brother  of  the  chase ;  the  Chris 
tian  would  have  trembled  at  the  profanity  of  such  a  prayer. 
But  while  this  religion  secured  more  general  and  constant  ac 
knowledgment  of  God,  it  brought  many  great  and  fatal  evils, 
for  as  Moses  in  the  presence  of  his  God  shone  celestial,  so  did 
the  brightness  of  those  deities  always  among  men,  fade  into 
human  pallor,  and  they  descended  in  sanctity  as  they  did  in  sta 
tion.  The  mythology  even  became  an  instrument  of  evil  :  for 
as  religion  was  the  offspring,  it  soon  became  the  slave,  of  pas 
sion  ;  and  the  feeling  which  had  wrought,  could  warp,  divinity. 
Whatever  inclination  prompted  or  indolence  invited,  imagina 
tion  was  at  hand  to  stamp  with  the  approbation  of  some  divine 
example ;  "  and  conscience,  drunk  as  with  wine,  could  sanctify 
to  them  all  bloody,  all  abominable  things."  Thus  was  piety, 
like  the  Britons,  destroyed  by  its  allies,  and  the  dome  of  reli 
gion,  like  the  fane  of  Errool,  fell  by  the  weight  of  its  own 
pillars. 

As  when  the  thousand  stars  of  night  rush  out,  the  single 
power  of  the  sun  comes  on,  so  did  the  Christian  Lord  reveal  his 
awful  splendor  as  the  heathen  gods  passed  away.  Under  the 
new  faith,  and  naturally  distinct  from  it,  feelings  of  course  arose, 
and  were  all  baptized  into  the  church.  But  it  was  soon  per 
ceived  that  these  feelings  had  no  sympathy  with  heaven,  when 
heaven  was  filled  by  the  exclusive  terrors  of  Jehovah,  and  tnat 
they  could  no  more  cling  to  the  naked  doctrine  of  "  GOD  over 


396  MISCELLANEOUS    PIECES.  [^TAT.  21 

all,  always,  and  in  all  places,"  than  the  myrtle  could  entwine 
itself  about  the  red-hot  thunderbolt.  They  therefore  invented 
the  demi-divinity  of  the  virgin,  as  a  rock  on  which  to  hang, 
screened  from  the  brilliance  of  almighty  power,  and  proceeded, 
like  sagacious  jewellers,  to  set  their  God  in  saints.  It  has  been 
the  fashion  of  late  years  to  class  the  saint-system  of  the  papal 
church  among  the  most  conspicuous  monuments  of  human  folly  ; 
but  folly  was  not  the  fault  of  the  Romish  hierarchy  ;  the  "  wis 
dom  of  the  serpent"  did  nothing  unwisely.  They  who  made 
the  calendar  were  wise  for  their  own  generation  :  the  evils  of  it 
fell,  like  England's  national  debt,  on  posterity.  The  progress 
of  the  matter  was  in  this  wise  :  Religion,  as  it  came  from  God, 
was  not  an  affair  that  could  whistle  through  the  key  hole  of  a 
nursery,  or  be  made  the  umpire  of  a  market-house  dispute ; 
many  acts  must  therefore  be  done  apart  from  all  religious  con 
sideration,  else  religion  becomes  degraded :  that  which  is  done 
beyond  the  eye  of  piety  soon  becomes  a  sin,  and  the  practice 
of  sinning  soon  makes  men  sinful.  To  obviate  this  result,  the 
saints  were  created  to  be  representatives*  sub  modo  of  the  Lord, 
to  keep  alive  a  sense  of  the  divine  existence  and  obligation,  and 
bear  the  truth  to  many  places  where  the  master  in  person  would 
not  venture  without  compromising  his  dignity ;  for  the  rosary 
might  be  carried  into  a  corner  when  the  cross  would  stick  fast 
in  the  door.  Again,  there  are  constantly  occurring  in  life  a 
large  number  of  little  miracles,  and  a  still  larger  number  of 
false  stories  of  them  ;  if  these  be  referred  to  chance,  the  notion 
of  a  constant  providence  is  lost ;  if  they  be  assigned  to  the 
intervention  of  the  Almighty,  omnipotence  is  degraded.  By 
the  happy  insertion  of  saints  into  the  chain  of  agents,  the  good 
is  secured  and  the  evil  prevented, — religion  is  made  "familiar," 

*  I  remember  a  fable,  I  think  in  Athengeus,  of  Jupiter  stopping  one  night 
at  the  house  of  a  peasant,  with  a  couple  of  thunderbolts  on  his  back.  The 
cottager,  fearing  that  the.  bolts  might  set  his  house  on  fire,  refused  to  admit 
the  thunderer  unless  he  left  his  load  in  the  yard ;  this  was  impossible,  for  the 
deity  and  his  power  were  "one  and  inseparable,"  and  the  poor  god  was  obliged 
to  sleep  under  a  shed.  The  saints  of  Christianity  were  so  made  as  to  be  gods 
in  all  respects,  only  that  they  did  not  carry  thunderbolts,  and  were  therefore 
admitted  as  a  much  safer  sort  of  people. 


.&TAT.  21.]  RELIGION  AND   POETRY.  397 

but  deity  by  "no  means  vulgar."  All  hands  shared  the  advan 
tage.  Such  were  some  of  the  motives  that  led  the  framers  of 
the  wisest  system  that  the  earth  has  ever  witnessed  to  this  won 
derful  device,  and  contributed  to  make  the  papal  church,  what 
it  has  always  appeared  to  those  who  observed  without  prejudice, 
and  thought  without  passion — the  very  sublimest  monument  of 
human  ingenuity  that  ever  existed.  The  evils  of  this  invention 
were  doubtless  foreseen  and  despised.  Those  evils  I  need  not 
dwell  upon — every  thing  was  brought  into  the  bosom  of  re 
ligion, — politics,  domestic  arrangements,  science,  war, — and 
"  quicqidd  agunt  homines,"  was  the  concern  of  the  priesthood ; 
till  the  ark  of  the  Christian  covenant  became  like  Noah's,  a 
mere  menagerie,  in  which  when  human  concerns,  like  the  beasts, 
came  in  at  the  doors,  purity,  like  the  dove,  went  out  at  the  win 
dow.  The  master's  prediction  became  history;  his  mustard- 
seed  had  grown  into  a  tree,  and  birds,  of  which  most  were 
"  a ves  obsccence,"  found  shelter  in  its  branches.  The  spiritual 
church  had  for  its  type  the  monasteries  of  the  time,  in  which 
men  ate,  drank,  and  slept,  and  performed  all  the  business  of  life 
within  the  consecrated  walls.  The  temple  became  utterly  de 
filed,  and  the  church  fell  into  a  state  which  called  forth  the 
sorrow  and  scorn  of  all  good  men.  I  think  that  I  am  right  in 
finding  the  germ  of  all  these  abominations  in  the  original  error 
of  introducing  into  Christianity  affairs  which  did  not  belong  to 
it,  of  extending  religion  much  too  far  in  its  influence,  and  of 
thinking  that  feeling  must  be  consecrated  to  the  Lord.  When 
you  cut  blocks  with  a  razor,  the  razor  it  is  which  suffers. 

The  sum  and  substance  of  Protestant  Christianity  is,  "  Repent 
and  Believe;"  that  much,  and  no  more,  of  precept  came  from 
God,  and  that  much,  and  no  more,  of  performance  should  go 
back  to  him.  We  have  seen  the  evils  of  joining  feeling  and 
religion ;  let  us  keep  them  distinct ;  let  revealed  faith  be  pre 
served  the  same  narrow  and  distinct  path  which  it  was  made  by 
the  Almighty  finger,  and  let  the  natural  piety  of  feeling  flow 
like  a  brook  by  the  side  of  it,  to  refresh,  but  not  seduce  the 
traveller — to  relieve,  but  not  convey  him.  While  sentiment  is 
trellised  on  the  outer  wall  of  the  temple,  it  adorns  and  protects 
34 


398  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  [JEtAT.  21. 

it ;  if  it  finds  its  way  within,  it  rends  the  walls  and  disorders  the 
building. 

Here  then  lies  the  true  use  of  poetry  in  these  modern  times  ; 
I  mean  human  and  unreligious  poetry, — poetry  as  a  system 
independent  on  religion  in  its  origin  and  end, — the  poetry  of 
Wordsworth,  Coleridge,  Wilson,  Brydges,  and  Shelley.  Let  us 
never  look  on  their  conclusions  as  sacred,  nor  imagine  that  they 
form  any  part  of  Christianity ;  let  us  not  believe  that  we  fulfil 
any  direct  portion  of  our  vocation  and  duty  as  Christian  men, 
when  we  renew  within  us  the  mood  they  exhibit ;  but  let  us  read 
them  to  keep  our  sympathies  tender,  our  moral  perceptions  deli 
cate,  our  hearts  free  and  open,  our  hopes  fresh  and  springing, 
and  our  whole  nature  elevated,  pure,  and  unselfish.  When  this 
is  done,  then  let  us  go  to  prayer. 

Another  advantage  springs  from  the  fictions  of  poetry  as  long 
as  it  is  kept  apart  from  religion.  In  these  latter  days,  when  phi 
losophy  has  explained  all  the  material  phenomena  of  the  uni 
verse,  we  are  in  danger  of  resting  on  second  causes,  and  losing 
the  many  excitements  to  pious  feeling  which  the  ancients  had ; 
and  the  golden  lies  of  the  poet  are  of  infinite  benefit  in  keeping 
open  in  our  breasts  the  springs  of  wonder,  and  preserving  in  the 
world  some  traces  of  mystery.  The  heathen  poet  tells  us  that 
he  was  converted  by  hearing  a  clap  of  thunder  in  a  clear  day ; 
now,  it  is  only  by  a  bold  poetic  fiction,  that  in  the  thunder 
"  God  in  judgment  passes  by;"  and  these  fictions,  though  not 
accepted  by  the  intellect,  have  their  effect  upon  the  heart. 
When  poetry  leads  us  among  the  false  mysteries  of  the  outer 
world,  it  keeps  alive  a  sense  of  the  real  mysteries  of  the  hidden 
world.  I  need  not  say  that  under  this  view  the  line  between 
fictitious  poetry  and  true  religion  must  be  strictly  kept  up  ;  for 
divine  revelations  must  never  be  married  to  human  inventions. 

I  therefore  regard  "  Religious  Poetry"  as  full  of  evil. 


JETAT.  27.]      MONOLOGUES  AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS.  399 

MONOLOGUES   AMONG   THE   MOUNTAINS.* 


BY    A    COSMOPOLITE. 

[Extract  from  the  Author's  Correspondence,  March  3rd,  1843.  "I  have 
been  overrun,  my  dear  Henry,  by  ten  thousand  armies  of  occupation  ever 
since  I  received  your  request ;  engaged  daily  at  my  office  fron  nine  in  the 
morning  till  ten  at  night ;  investigating  some  important  trust  titles,  and  with 
other  engrossing  concerns.  They  have  left  me  little  time,  and  no  eye-sight. 
However,  I  have  whirled  you  off  some  rhapsodies  which  you  can  kick  into 
sense  or  lick  into  shape.  I  am  only  afraid  that  they  are  too  late  for  your  pur 
pose.  No  thanks  for  them  ;  for  such  things  I  can  write  by  the  foot,  yard, 
perch,  mile,  or  if  necessary  even  by  the  league.  Don't  let  me  be  known  in  any 
way  as  author.  The  preface  '  To  the  Reader/  put  in  editorially,  of  course. 
Some  persons  will  probably  take  it  as  literally  true  :  others  will  not  'undergo 
the  fatigue'  of  thinking  any  thing  about  tha,t  matter ;  and  it  may  entertain  the 
rest  who  know  or  who  don't  know  that  the  arts  of  the  drama  belong  to  modern 
literature  as  much  as  to  the  stage  at  any  time.  Adieu !  Send  me  some 
good  French  and  German  autographs,  if  you  can.  I  have  most  English  and 
American  worth  having,  and  at  all  easy  to  be  had ;  though  I  should  like  one, 
if  you  can  get  it,  of  George  Ross,  the  signer  of  the  Declaration,  which  is  rare. 
I  have  scores  of  many  of  the  others,  which  I  will  exchange  three  to  one  for 
a  good  George  Ross."] 

TO  THE    READER. 

The  following  piece  belongs  to  a  series  of  papers  which  have  been  given 
to  us  to  be  made  use  of  in  this  paper.  The  author  has  too  little  vanity  to  be 
diffident;  and  therefore  when  we  state  to  our  readers  that  he  is  one  of  the 
most  extraordinary  persons  of  this  age,  a  man  of  splendid  passions,  and  bear 
ing  on  every  feature  of  his  character  and  mind  the  unquestionable  stamp  of 
genius,  we  are  sure  that  his  modesty  will  not  be  offended  any  more  than  it 
would  be  were  we  to  say  that  he  is  above  six  feet  in  height,  with  a  countenance 
of  antique  and  almost  royal  dignity,  glowing  and  generous,  yet  furrowed  with 
thought  and  suffering;  showing  the  fatigues  rather  than  the  fires  of  passion. 
His  history  has  been  wild  and  romantic  to  the  last  degree.  His  birth  placed 
him  in  the  first  position  of  distinction  and  enjoyment  in  his  own  country,  at  a 
time  when  the  pacific  revolutions  of  commerce  and  the  more  violent  inroads 
of  democracy  had  not  confused  or  shaken  the  distinct  supremacy  of  the  old- 
landed  families  :  but  the  restlessness  of  his  temper  and  the  impatience  of  a 
mental  energy  to  which  repose  was  almost  madness,  made  him  a  wanderer 
from  his  youth.  From  the  elegant  and  exclusive  luxury  of  the  English  no- 

*  These  pieces,  originally  designed,  as  is  conjectured  from  the  author's  correspondence, 
for  another  publication,  appeared,  in  part,  at  a  later  date  in  a  Magazine  of  Philadelphia. 
—En. 


400  MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.  [JErAT.  27. 

bility  as  it  was  before  the  younger  Pitt,  bad  "  soused  it  with  a  flood  of  spurious 
creations,"  and  from  the  still  more  selected  society  of  the  French  peers  before 
the  revolution,  among  whom  he  spent  some  years;  this  singular  man  set  forth 
to  travel  through  some  of  the  most  unexplored  and  inhospitable  parts  of  Eu 
rope  and  Asia.  He  travelled  on  horseback  over  Russia  and  Siberia  ;.  pene 
trated  into  China;  lodged  for  several  months  in  a  monastery  of  Buddhist 
priests  in  Thibet;  traversed  Central  Asia;  and  passed  two  or  three  years 
among  Bedouin  Arabs.  This  last-named  people  he  has  visited  several 
times,  as  he  claims  relationship  with  some  of  their  chiefs ;  his  great-grand 
mother,  as  we  understood  him  to  say,  having  been  the  daughter  of  one  of  the 
Sheiks,  who  had  come  to  Constantinople  to  arrange  with  the  Sultan  some  dis 
pute  about  tribute  money.  The  singular  and  original  style  of  beauty  of  this 
child  of  the  desert  so  much  impressed  one  of  the  ancestors  of  the  person  we 
speak  of,  being  then  Minister  at  the  Porte,  that  he  married  her  and  brought 
her  the  next  year  to  England.  This  anecdote  we  remember  to  have  seen  re 
lated  in  the  first  edition  of  Dr.  Kippis's" Biographical  Dictionary;"  it  was 
omitted  in  the  subsequent  impressions,  from  what  cause  we  do  not  know.  This 
remarkable  man  has  been  mixed  up  with  most  of  the  tumults  of  Europe  and 
the  intrigues  of  the  eastern  world ;  besides  carrying  on  a  crowded  scheme  of 
private  enterprise  and  adventure.  His  age  would  weigh  about  seventy  years ; 
but  if  his  vigor  and  activity  were  thrown  into  the  scale  of  the  numbers,  fifty 
would  give  his  effective  age.  As  we  were  conversing  the  other  evening,  over 
a  few  bottles  of  Metternich  hock  of  the  matchless  vintage  of  '34,  he  fell  into 
a  discourse  about  the  advantages  of  old  age,  which  led  him  to  give  a  few  par 
ticulars  of  his  history  and  adventures. 

"  The  Cardinal  Alberoni,"  said  he,  "  is  reported  to  have  expressed  the  odd 
wish  that  he  had  been  born  old;  I  suppose  because  he  would  have  escaped 
the  errors  and  mistakes  of  youth.  Could  a  man  be  born  old,  yet  with  the  re 
collection  of  a  past  to  look  back  upon,  and  with  all  those  different  strata  which 
successive  floods  of  passion  deposit  upon  the  character,  and  with  all  the  quaint, 
gnomic  scrawls  which  Time  writes  upon  the  spirit — just  as  the  world,  (we 
must  suppose,  to  reconcile  Scripture  with  geology,)  was  created  with  all  the 
formations  that  belong  to  an  advanced  stage  of  its  existence — I  kiiow  not  but 
that  I  would  join  in  the  Italian's  wish :  it  would  be  simply  so  much  time 
saved.  But  as  things  are  settled  here  below,  it  is  to  youth  and  its  fatal  blun 
ders,  to  manhood  and  its  fruitless  acts,  that  age  is  indebted  for  its  powers  and 
its  privileges.  I  deem  it  a  cheap  tutelage  that  through  such  painful  rudiments 
my  soul  has  learned  that  dauntless  secret  of  wisdom — nil  admirari ;  an  ele 
ment  and  a  conclusion  of  philosophy  that  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  study,  nor 
a-field;  but  is  taught  only  in  the  merciless  college  of  experience.  I  rejoice 
that  through  many  toils  and  after  laborious  wanderings  I  have  grown  old :  for 
I  am  '  donatns  rude.'  Time,  at  the  end  of  my  pilgrimage,  presents  me  with 
a  full  charter  of  emancipation  from  all  prejudices  and  all  delusions.  Opinion, 
custom,  cant,  the  authority  of  schools,  the  practice  of  multitudes,  the  narrow 
maxims  with  which  men  love  to  delude  themselves — these  give  not  the  small 
est  bias  to  my  judgment ;  but  free,  unfettered,  and  with  the  force  of  genuineness 


,ETAT.  27.]   MONOLOGUES  AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS.       4Q1 

and  sincerity,  I  see  into  the  heart  of  truth.  I  have  learned  never  to  consult 
the  dead  reckoning,  but  always  to  take  an  observation  for  myself.  I  who 
have  seen  the  Queen  of  France  attended  with  all  the  magnificence  of  Ver 
sailles,  with  that  unrivalled  radiance  of  countenance  which  made  her,  indeed, 
'a  star  to  all  the  glittering  throng,'  and  have  seen  the  same  woman  with 
thin,  wan  features  and  dishevelled  hair,  riding  in  a  cart  to  the  guillotine  :  who 
saw  the  Emperor  Napoleon  seated 

High  on  a  throne  with  trophies  charged, 
while — 

His  feet  on  sceptres  and  tiaras  trod ; 

and  a  few  years  later  saw  a  fat,  bilious  man,  in  a  green  coat,  on  the  bleak  rock 
of  St.  Helena,  who,  they  told  me,  was  the  same  person;  I  who  have  seen  a  mighty 
empire  created  in  India  within  the  space  of  half  my  life,  and  in  the  same 
period  a  battalia  of  European  kings  crowned  and  cashiered;  you  may  ima 
gine  that  I  am  tolerably  disenchanted  from  all  the  prestige  of  royalty  and 
greatness.  As  to  wealth  and  luxury,  I  saw  something  of  that  before  the  Ja 
cobins  rendered  it  necessary  to  keep  a  sword  in  one  hand  to  protect  the  fork 
in  the  other.  And  such  as  it  has  been  since,  I  have  seen  something  of  it  too. 
I  have  passed  months  with  Beckford  at  Fonthill,  when  we  kept  some  days  the 
simplicity  of  an  anchorite's  meal,  and  some  days  sat  down  to  three  hundred 
dishes  between  us,  with  music  and  women,  and  such  elaborate  elegancies  as 
you  may  conceive  when,  with  an  unlimited  exchequer,  we  joined  the  best  in 
ventions  of  our  genius  to  contrive  what  should  be  most  delicious.  I  have 
revelled,  too,  with  the  Prince  at  Carlton  House,  where,  through  many  a  mid 
night  hour,  we  drolled  it  gaily.  Often,  too,  have  I  passed  the  night  in  a  tent 
with  an  old  sheik,  counselling  whence  we  should  steal  a  kid  for  our  morning's 
broth.  The  adventitious  differences  of  states  and  conditions  do  not,  there 
fore,  greatly  dazzle  my  imagination.  I  have  spent  years  in  the  different  uni 
versities  of  Europe,  ' approfondissant  les  chases'  of  speculation  and  morals; 
and  I  have  battled  among  the  sands  of  the  east  till  my  face  was  bronze  and 
my  hand  as  hard  as  the  iron  it  wielded.  For  I  abhorred,  above  all  things, 
narrowness  of  thought  and  feeling ;  and  I  loved  to  bring  my  soul  into  sym 
pathy  with  all  the  possible  emotions  which  the  heart  of  man  can  experience, 
and  to  multiply  my  consciousness  through  all  the  forms  and  modes  of  life. 
Most  of  all,  I  have  taken  care  to  know  and  be  familiar  with  all  the  great  in 
tellects  that  the  time  has  produced  in  either  continent;  that,  communing  with 
their  minds  and  studying  their  farthest  speculations,  I  might  know  all  the 
varieties  of  the  possible  as  well  as  the  actual,  and  see  all  the  wonders  of  the 
world  that  is  not.  I  have  seen  systems  of  philosophy,  each  more  infallible 
than  its  predecessor,  rise  in  succession  only  to  be  displaced.  In  one  word,  I 
knew  Europe  and  literature  before  the  names  of  Byron  and  Buonaparte  had 
been  heard  by  the  world ;  I  know  them  now  when  they  fill  it.  Others  will 
obliterate  their  impression,  and  the  curtain  which  has  now  fallen,  will  rise 
again  over  mightier  intellects  and  more  astounding  changes.  Do  you  wonder, 
then,  that  I  reverence  nothing ;  that  I  approach  every  thing  with  an  impres 

34* 


402  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  [^ETAT.  27. 


sion  of  contempt;  and,  following  nothing  but  the  force  of  my  own  soul,  I 
think  what  I  like  and  speak  what  I  list  ?" 

Pausing  a  few  minutes,  and  somewhat  musing,  while  he  was  quaffing  down 
another  goblet  of  this  delicious  wine,  which,  he  said  "  mnst  have  grown  close 
under  the  Castle,  and  indeed  partly  over  the  cellars,"  and  which  he  assured  us 
was  much  better  than  any  of  the  1350  bottles,  which  coming  from  the  same 
spot  had  been  divided  as  a  rare  possession  between  George  IV.  and  the  King 
of  Prussia  —  this  extraordinary  man  began  again  :  and  rising  to  a  strain  which 
was  of  a  higher  mood,  thus  broke  forth  :  "  I  cannot  live  with  men.  The  ho 
rizon  of  my  being  hath  not  been  wont  to  be  bounded  by  their  narrow  circle. 
In  that  tangle  of  small  interests  and  mist  of  little  passions,  which  is  called 
society,  my  soul  cannot  get  its  breath.  I  go  forth  to  breathe  and  find  in  the 
vast  theatre  of  nature  a  chamber  large  enough  for  it  to  dwell  in.  I  despiso 
not  men;  I  have  learned  to  despise  nothing  that  my  Creator  hath  made;  but 
I  forget,  I  ignore  them.  I  cannot  live  so  lonely  as  they  do  —  divorced  from 
nature.  I  must  be  among  my  brethren,  the  forests,  the  mountains,  and  the 
sea,  whom  I  may  love  ;  else  my  heart  pines  within  me.  I  have  seen  those  to 
whom  the  silence  of  nature  was  dreadful;  but  I  have  kept  my  purity,  and 
can  dwell  among  the  pure.  The  dark-browed  fiend  remorse  intrudes  not 
within  my  cottage  ;  my  memory  is  not  a  whirling  cess-pool  which  heaves  up 
the  carcasses  of  old  sins  to  poison  the  atmosphere  of  the  spirit.  I  have  fol 
lowed  virtue  ;  I  hare  never  degraded  my  character  by  vice.  By  my  station  I 
was  born  to  great  thoughts.  Pride  and  dignity  of  mind  and  nature  have  kept 
me  from  ever  doing  a  selfish  or  a  wicked  action.  I  have  been  useful  to  my 
race.  I  have  labored  to  be  good  ;  and  I  have  my  reward.  The  good  Being 
whom  I  have  served  and  loved,  sendeth  his  angels,  Peace,  and  Strength,  and 
Freedom,  to  stand  around  me  hi  mine  age. 

"  To  that  cause,  too,  I  owe  it  that,  though  grey-haired,  my  vigor  is  as  fresh 
and  my  sensibilities  as  delicate  as  in  the  first  fervor  of  my  youth.  The  ar 
dors  of  virtue,  like  the  fires  of  heaven,  kindle  without  consuming  ;  the  heats 
of  evil  exhaust  to  ashes.  I  am  old  ;  but  much,  both  for  evil  and  for  good, 
may  be  done  in  extreme  old  age.  At  a  period  of  life  later  than  that  which  I 
have  reached,  Dandolo  acquired  his  greatness,  and  Bacon  lost  his  honor. 
The  minds  that  break  in  the  decline  of  life,  are  usually  such  as  have  been 
stretched  on  the  racks  of  paradox  and  subtlety  ;  but  minds  originally  strong, 
that  have  been  occupied,  though  never  so  laboriously,  with  truth  and  sound 
sense,  rarely  give  way  even  in  the  decrepitude  of  the  body.  The  wanderer  in 
many  lands,  and  the  worker  of  stern  deeds,  in  whose  veins  the  blood  of  Plan- 
tagenet  flows,  mingled  with  the  wilder  tide  of  the  Arab,  never  knew  fatigue 
but  when  compelled  to  rest,  and  never  tasted  repose  save  in  the  whirl  of  ac 
tion.  Otia  nescit.  To  me  there  is  a  sting  in  idleness.  Here  I  shall  labor 
greatly,  as  I  have  always  labored.  And  the  intervals  of  stronger  toil  I  shall 
relieve  by  lighter  compositions  upon  letters  and  taste,  which  the  world  may 
care  for  or  condemn,  as  it  sees  fit.  My  ancestors  ever  did  battle  against  usur 
pation  and  tyranny,  and  they  have  left  me  as  the  motto  of  my  mind  and  my 
life:  'Above  all  things—  FREEDOM.'" 


27.]      MONOLOGUES  AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS.  403 

"  From  what  we  had  the  advantage  of  seeing  of  this  eccentric  person,  it 
struck  us  that  he  had  attained  a  more  thorough  independence  in  every  part 
of  his  character  than  any  one  whom  we  had  met  before.  In  his  habits  he 
seemed  never  to  consult  what  was  usual;  but  considered  only  what  was  con 
venient.  In  expressing  his  opinions  he  appeared  not  even  to  be  aware  that 
the  world  had  some  settled  way  of  thinking  upon  any  of  the  subjects  he  spoke 
of.  What  seemed  to  him  reasonable,  that  he  uttered.  Upon  all  subjects  he 
seemed  perfectly  delivered  from  prejudice ;  and  to  possess,  not  the  bigotted 
skepticism  of  Voltaire,  but  that  more  complete  Pyrrhonism  which  is  skeptical 
even  of  its  own  doubts.  His  descent  is  probably  as  illustrious  as  that  of  any 
man  in  Europe,  and  he  was  well  conscious  of  it :  but  he  never,  in  judging  of 
the  merits  of  others,  paid  any  attention  to  their  origin.  He  was  easy  and  fa 
miliar  with  the  lowest  as  with  the  well-born.  He  did  not  seem  to  know  what 
hauteur  was.  Though  boundless  in  the  pride  of  his  soul,  he  had  not  the 
smallest  pride  of  manner.  The  papers  which  we  shall,  from  time  to  time, 
present  to  our  readers,  contain  reflections  upon  literature,  philosophy  and  life. 
The  author  resides  at  present  a  recluse  among  the  mountains  where  he  has 
built  himself  a  beautiful  home  from  which  he  never  now  goes,  except  to  re 
fresh  himself  at  a  picturesque  spot  of  lofty  ground  which  he  owns  near  the 
sea.  He  writes  a  vast  deal,  and  with  great  rapidity.  The  papers  which  we 
give  below  are  perhaps  the  most  careless  compositions  of  the  whole ;  but  as 
they  are  not  without  something  characteristic  of  the  writer,  we  have  thought 
them  worth  printing. — EDS. 


No.   I. 

ONCE  more,  back  to  the  life  of  the  Mind  ! — to  the  spring  and 
the  flash  of  Thought,  and  the  boundless  sweep  of  the  Feelings  I 
In  the  atmosphere  of  the  world  I  can  no  longer  get  my  breath ; 
in  its  keenest  enterprises  I  live  but  half  my  being  :  but,  here,  amid 
the  solitudes  of  the  mountains  and  the  sky,  I  once  more  feel  my 
soul  within  me.  The  glow  and  might  of  Nature  inspire  again 
that  luxury  of  conscious  power,  which,  in  my  hours  of  young  en 
thusiasm,  once  made  existence  ecstasy,  when  the  brave  children 
of  the  Soul  flew  forth,  with  rush  of  strength,  over  Life  and  Earth, 
to  revel  in  the  wealth  of  conquest.  By  sympathy  with  her  sub- 
limeness,  my  spirit  is  refreshed  and  comforted. 

For  my  own  part,  I  have  always  been  of  opinion  that  the  only 
sort  of  life  worth  leading,  is  that  intense  and  fiery  life,  in  which 
the  poorness  of  our  mortality  is  merged  and  drowned  in  the  flood 
of  the  soul's  eternal  forces, — that  fierce  existence,  in  which  the 


404  MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 

buried  lustre  of  our  creation-flame  is  flashed  out  from  the  depths 
of  our  nature,  to  gild  and  glorify  our  career — that  thronged,  still- 
crescive  vehemence  of  feeling  which  presses  the  heart  into  calm 
ness  through  rapture.  Of  every  pursuit  I  have  made  a  passion, 
and  never  deemed  the  car  of  life  worth  mounting,  save  when  its 
axle  was  a-blaze  with  swiftness.  With  the  blank  half- vitality  of 
those  who  dream  out  the  dulness  of  their  years,  lacking  "  sense 
to  be  right,  and  passion  to  be  wrong,"  I  had  no  sympathy;  but 
wherever  there  was  turmoil  and  effort,  the  dash  of  action,  or  the 
daring  of  the  mind,  there  was  something  kindred  to  my  thoughts. 
Born  with  these  impetuous  tempers — with  a  spirit  that  loved 
to  breathe  itself  in  the  chase  of  the  splendid  and  the  great,  and 
in  the  full  stretch  and  strain  of  the  faculties  to  taste  the  relish 
of  the  Infinite, — I  plunged  into  society  and  the  world,  equally 
ready  to  dally  with  their  softnesses  or  grapple  with  their  strength. 
Vixi.  I  have  lived  indeed.  I  have  wrung  from  life  some  of  its 
deepest,  dearest  treasures, — the  pearls  of  its  sweetest  pleasant 
ness, — its  blazing  diamonds  of  delight.  The  joy  that  is  in  the 
fresh,  bold  dreams  of  Power — rthe  purple  luxuries  of -Passion — • 
the  glory  of  the  far-gleaming  visions  of  Love — the  wild,  trancing 
promises  of  its  pursuit — and  the  rapturous  madness  of  possession 
— these  I  drank  largely  from  Youth's  foaming  cup.  Sed,  hcec 
prius  fuere.  That  cup  is  now  empty.  Those  interests  are  ex 
hausted.  I  have  lived  through  them ;  I  have  consumed  them  by 
partaking.  That  quick  galvanic  action  which  took  place  when 
boyhood  first  plunged  into  the  stream  of  affairs  has  ceased. 
Merely  to  enjoy  what  exists  around  me  is  no  longer  sufficiently 
exciting :  I  must  make  the  life  I  would  partake ;  and  in  that 
stress  of  soul,  which  is  creation,  I  must  find  a  refuge  from  the 
terrible  fatigue  of  listlessness.  So  then,  the  resources  of  the 
earth  being  spent,  I  come  back  to  dwell  amongst  the  energies  of 
Thought. 

This  life  of  ours  seems  to  me  to  be  a  kind  of  desperate  en 
counter  between  the  world,  which  is  Time's  eldest  champion,  and 
the  soul  of  man,  which  is  the  youngest  offspring  of  Eternity  ;  in 
which,  while  the  latter  seeks  to  snatch  pleasure  and  knowledge 
from  its  mortal  enemy,  the  former  strives  to  paralyze  the  vigor, 


.  27.]      MONOLOGUES  AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS.  4Q5 

to  kill  the  hopes,  and  to  convulse  the  serenity  of  its  angelic  an 
tagonist.  To  withdraw  from  the  struggle,  like  Solomon,  over 
whelmed  with  exhaustion  and  despair,  or,  like  Byron,  maddened 
with  resentment  and  flaming  with  the  hate  and  indignation  of  a 
deceived  and  duped  existence,  is  surely  proof  of  weakness  and 
defeat.  I  own  no  such  faint  and  yielding  soul.  The  world  and 
I  have  met  in  conflict :  I  have  gained  from  it  a  thousand  trophies ; 
from  me  it  boasts  not  one.  I  now  fling  from  me  the  powerless 
foe,  and,  calm,  confident,  and  strong,  I  go  forth  to  glad  myself  in 
fields  of  nobler  force.  Were  I  one  as  impotent  to  endure  as  I 
am  sensitive  to  feel,  memory  were  to  me  a  staple  from  which  I 
might  spin  out  the  thread  of  an  everlasting  sadness.  For  me, 
that  sun  of  expectation  which  lighted  life's  vapors  into  magni 
ficence  and  splendor  has  sunk  below  the  horizon — and  the  chilly 
scene  has  grown  cheerless,  gray  and  desolate.  The  friends  who 
cheered  me  once,  the  companions  to  whom  I  was  of  importance, 
have  disappeared.  She — the  endlessly  beautiful — profuse  of 
charms  as  prodigal  in  vows — the  girl,  amata  nobis,  quantum 
amabitur  nulla — has  deserted  me  ;  and  that  other  being — that 
great  and  graceful  spirit — august  with  loveliness — the  glory  and 
the  anguish  of  my  life — whose  flame  of  soul  was  wont  to  mix  and 
blaze  with  mine — has  fled  from  the  earth,  and  left  me  the  legacy 
of  eternal  solitude.  The  gilded  train  of  passions,  fancies  and 
desires,  that  once  girt  my  proud  and  conquering  soul,  has 
vanished,  and  I  am  indeed  alone.  But  what  is  this  to  me  ?  The 
stern,  wild  force  of  a  spirit  like  mine  laughs  at  calamity  like 
this ;  and  roused  into  its  savageness  of  strength,  hurls  away  from 
it  the  tyranny  of  the  Past,  and  draws  back  into  the  eternity  of 
its  own  self-born  and  self-sufficing  power.  What  are  the  rattling 
arrows  of  the  storm  to  one  who  sits  above  the  clouds  ?  The 
mortal  of  my  being  I  give  to  agony  and  dissolution ;  but  the 
death  of  the  mortal  is  the  delivery  of  the  immortal.  That  ethe 
real  energy  within  me  which  hath  the  temper  and  the  touch  of 
everlasting,  rises  with  swan-like  beat  of  wing,  and,  spreading  its 
unmoulted  plumage  to  the  morning,  soars  upward,  breasting  the 
golden  light. 

Time  has  somewhat  blanched  my  cheeks,  but  not  paled  the 


406  MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.  [£!TAT.  27. 

fires  of  my  bosom.  My  heart  hath  done  battle  with  the  wast- 
ingness  of  troops  of  griefs  ;  but  neither  the  strong  assault  of  the 
days,  nor  the  crushing  uses  of  our  daily  existence,  nor  wrong, 
nor  solitude,  nor  remorse,  have  had  power  to  tame  the  soul 
which  they  tortured,  or  beat  back  one  of  the  deathless  aspirations 
of  my  nature.  As  gaily  and  as  glowingly  as  ever  does  my  spirit 
launch  forth  its  eager  forces  ;  my  breast  still  thrills  with  the  ex 
ulting  sense  of  conflict  and  victory.  Confidence  goeth  out  with 
the  morning ;  and  blue-eyed  Joy  with  fair-fronted  Peace  come 
smiling  to  me  in  the  evening.  From  the  failure  of  the  outward, 
I  have  learned  the  vigor  of  my  own  being ;  and  my  maturer  life 
realizes  what  mine  youth  would  not  be  taught,  that  Action  is 
the  child  of  Time,  but  Thought  is  an  inhabitant  of  Eternity. 

It  has  been  said  by  an  eminent  French  pilosopher  that  there 
is  no  glory  on  earth  but  the  military.  Doubtless  great  memories 
are  connected  with  the  sword,  and  deep  feelings  answer  to  its 
flash.  When  we  behold  the  famous  conqueror  of  our  own  days, 
going  out  in  the  splendor  of  his  power,  and  all  the  pageantry  of 
force — moving  like  the  thunder-cloud,  to  strike  like  its  fire — and 
listen  to  the  tramp  of  the  host,  a  sound  so  ominous  and  terrible, 
and  to  the  pealing  music  which  seems  to  shatter  the  heavens,  and 
whirls  our  feelings  for  a  moment  into  forces  beyond  mortality, 
and  gaze  on  that  marvel  of  discipline  wherein  manhood  itself 
seems  to  render  homage  to  intellect,  as  the  suggestions  of  one 
understanding  operate  to  mass  multitudes  together  and  infuse 
into  them  an  instinct  to  serve,  to  suffer  and  be  slain — the  group 
of  horsemen  from  out  whose  midst  issue  the  rapid  syllables  that 
are  spells  to  oversweep  the  force  of  fate — the  flying  messengers 
that  convey  to  the  kindling  mass  the  electric  fires  of  one  glowing 
will — the  keen  survey  of  the  field,  the  quick  combination,  the  ad 
vance,  the  victory,  and  in  the  midst  'of  all  this  breathless  turmoil 
. — the  spirit  of  the  hero  then  reposing  in  the  prophetic  calmness 
of  the  triumph — the  despatch  written  on  the  saddle-bow,  to  fix 
the  destiny  of  distant  nations — the  couriers  coming  and  going 
with  intelligence  of  battles  in  the  north,  and  with  words  that 
shall  be  the  history  of  the  west — when  we  look  with  terrified 


.  27.]      MONOLOGUES  AMOXG  TJIE   MOUNTAINS.  4Q7 

amazement  on  this  scene,  truly  we  feel  as  if  the  crowning  great 
ness  of  our  condition  were  before  us. 

But,  mightier  and  more  majestic  yet  is  the  spectacle,  when, 
sublime  and  still,  in  mystery  of  strength,  the  mind  of  man  pro- 
ceedeth  forth  through  the  void  unknown  of  meditation.  Its 
march  is  creation,  and  glory  is  in  its  repose.  Star-like,  advanc 
ing  to  the  sound  of  its  own  inherent  music,  the  lustre  of  beauty 
which  swells  from  its  presence,  thickens  into  crystal  forms  of  truth 
which  beam  with  the  brightness  of  the  life  forever.  With  pomp 
of  cloud-like  grandeur,  the  dreams  of  the  passions  move  on  before 
and  waste  themselves  through  the  infinite,  while  the  armed  hosts 
of  the  thoughts,  with  a  spontaneous  glitter  beyond  the  sun, 
plant,  on  all  the  pinnacles  of  time,  trophies  that  tower  through 
the  blue  vault  of  eternity.  In  the  purple  of  the  rays  that  stream 
from  that  far-effulgent  essence,  the  trivial  things  of  earth  are 
seen  to  be  symbols  of  a  profound  significance,  and  signatures  of 
a  wondrous  import ;  and  even  the  torn  vapors  that  fleet  in  the 
train  of  the  fair  procession  of  the  morning,  when  lit  by  the  flame 
of  its  coming,  gleam  like  banners  of  celestial  texture,  stamped 
with  the  watchwords  of  Purity  and  Hope.  When  thus  the  fa 
culties  of  man  move  upon  the  deep  of  existence,  to  gather  into 
stars  of  Truth  the  pale,  primal  light  of  Nature,  or  to  fashion 
new  worlds  of  Art  and  give  to  their  orbits  a  being  among  the 
eternal  things  of  the  universe,  we  behold  a  witness  that  our  souls 
are  portion  of  the  Divine  Spirit,  and  that  our  destiny  is  co-eter 
nal  with  His  element ;  for  to  create  is  the  incommunicable  at 
tribute  of  Godhood,  and  an  everlasting  progeny  cannot  be  born 
of  the  mortal. 

To  me,  here  dwelling  alone  amidst  the  old  serenities  of  nature, 
thoughts  are  ever  coming  and  going,  and  feelings  touch  me  and 
pass  on.  In  the  silence  of  the  early  morning,  I  am  visited  by 
the  wandering  scouts  of  the  Intellect,  who  report  to  me  of  the 
distant,  the  wonderful,  the  divine  ;  and,  in  the  musings  of  the 
darkness,  gazing  into  the  depths  of  the  soul,  the  myriad  forms  o* 
sentiment  reveal  to  me  their  beauty  by  their  own  phosphoric 
lustre.  To  unsphere  these  angels  of  the  mind  from  the  universe 
of  the  spirit,  and  send  them  forth,  in  language  to  bear  to  men 


408  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  [JETAT.  27. 

the  greetings  of  a  brother,  and  woo  for  me  the  love  of  noble 
hearts,  is  necessary  to  the  quiet  of  a  nature  that  never  knew  re 
pose  but  in  the  tension  of  the  faculties.  Not  to  remit  or  rest 
have  I  come  hither,  but  for  loftier  toils  in  larger  tracts  of  effort. 
A  breast  that  hath  been  wrung  as  mine  has  been — that,  fated 
quickly  to  feel,  and  never  to  forget,  went  out  into  life,  and  in  its 
youthful  fervor  filled  its  depths  with  pleasures  in  whose  recesses 
anguish  had  its  birth-place — whose  sad  destiny  it  has  been  to 
regret  its  best  feelings,  and  curse  its  very  virtues  as  the  cause 
of  its  ruin — to  which  misfortune  has  been  for  guilt,  and  the  sins 
of  others  for  a  remorse — such  a  bosom  may  be  silent  in  its 
strength,  and  calm  in  pride  of  power ;  but  that  austere  tran 
quillity  is  not  rest,  and  the  stillness  of  that  self-mastery  is  born 
of  the  storm.  From  the  mountain-heights  of  meditation,  I  look 
down  upon  low,  earth-born  mists  that  no  longer  come  near  me, 
and  I  taste  a  clear,  and  pure,  and  wholesome  atmosphere ;  yet, 
ever  and  anon,  forming  itself  out  of  sun-light  and  summer  airs, 
the  dark  cloud,  which  is  the  shade  of  Nature's  offended  counte 
nance,  gathers  around,  and  the  secrets  of  the  Great  Fear  that 
awaiteth  in  the  invisible  are  syllabled  in  the  tones  of  thunder,  or 
shot  forth  in  the  rubric  signals  of  the  lightning.  Such  is  the 
moral  mystery  of  our  being  !  Our  very  existence  seems  to  be  a 
sin,  and  life  is  a  perpetual  repentance  for  itself.  The  blood  of 
youth  is  joy,  and  the  old  age  of  joy  is  contrition  ;  pleasure  is  the 
sweet  spring-blossom  of  feeling,  and  pain  is  its  bitter  autumnal 
berry.  It  is  well !  it  is  well !  For  as  it  is  the  unquiet  of  the  sea 
which  forms  the  crest  that  sparkles  on  its  shores,  so  from  the  tumult 
and  agony  of  the  spirit  is  splendor  of  thought  flung  forth.  Grief 
of  heart  is  the  quickening  spell  of  the  mind's  inspiration ;  and 
the  ruin  of  the  individual  is  the  glory  of  the  race. 

It  is  the  waning-time  of  night  Let  us  leave  these  morbid 
musings  with  which  we  have  beguiled  the  midnight  hour,  and 
go  forth  to  look  upon  the  dawn. 

No  sound,  no  motion !  yet  it  is  the  mighty  coming  of  the  day. 
.All  night,  no  cloud  hath  been  seen  abroad  ;  no  mist  hath 
dimmed  the  effulgent  ether  between  the  glittering  stars.  All  is 
solitary,  still,  and  cold.  The  first  wave  of  the  light  rolls  for- 


.  27.]      MONOLOGUES  AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS.  4Q9 

ward,  and  scatters  its  snowy  foam  throughout  the  air.  For  the 
tide  of  the  great  ocean  of  Infinity,  whose  flood  is  darkness  and 
whose  ebb  is  day,  has  begun  its  resistless  flow ;  and  the  bark  of 
the  sun-god,  who  stands  prepared  to  spring  upon  the  heavens, 
nears  upon  the  swelling  waters.  The  pure  bosom  of  the  sky  is 
flushed  at  the  rude  invasion  of  its  beauty,  and  as  the  glowing 
presence  of  the  day-prince  grows  more  intense  and  instant,  its 
blushes  deepen  from  roseate  into  purple,  till  it  seems  as  it  would 
faint  with  excess  of  feeling.  It  throbs  with  the  quick-darting 
pulses  of  emotion,  and  its  white  breast,  made  delicately  carmine 
by  its  virgin  wishes,  lies,  like  the  bride  of  the  morning,  passion 
ing  with  expectancy. 

What  wild  and  solemn  rapture  the  silent  heavens  flash  down 
upon  the  soul  I  The  Spirit  of  Power,  that  inhabits  in  the 
bosom  of  man,  struggles  forth  to  press  to  itself  the  Spirit  of 
Beauty,  which  smiles  down  upon  it  from  the  depths  of  the  blue 
air ;  and,  as  they  wrestle  in  that  strong  embrace,  Joy  shouts 
aloud  the  honors  of  the  contest.  Limitless  splendor  1  Ineffable 
delight !  I  ask  no  immortality  but  this  !  In  the  bliss  of  mo 
ments  such  as  now,  I  feel  that  I  partake  Eternity.  In  truth, 
these  deeps  of  spiritual  consciousness  contain,  and  are,  forever, 
that  unlocal,  dateless  Heaven,  which  men,  duped  by  the  dazzling 
images  of  the  tribe  and  the  market  into  mistaking  succession  of 
visible  existence  for  degrees  of  moral  life,  have  vainly  pictured 
as  future  and  far-distant.  The  infant  day  lies  in  pearly  love 
liness,  cradled  between  the  earth  and  heaven,  while  its  smiles  of 
light  float  wreath-like  through  the  air.  As  I  gaze  into  the 
unbounded  scene,  the  remote  and  viewless  gates  of  the  Infinite 
seem  to  be  opened,  and  the  lustrous  atmosphere,  forth-stream 
ing,  rolls  over  the  world  a  surge  of  glory  which  wafts  with  it 
the  breezy  freshness  of  a  celestial  bliss  ;  the  soul  bathing  in  the 
stainless  waters  is  made  pure  with  holy  strength.  The  Present 
and  the  Distant,  the  Actual  and  the  Impossible  seem  to  be 
tumbled  together  in  this  tumultuous  prodigality  of  splendor ; 
the  softest  forms  of  Memory  are  revived,  and  Hope's  most  golden 
aspirations  are  made  real ;  and  the  faculties,  expanded  by  the 
swell  of  passion,  seem  to  pervade  and  to  possess  the  universe. 
35 


I 
410  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  [^TAT.  27. 

I  never  understood  so  feelingly  as  to-day  what  the  Prince  of 
Denmark  meant  when  he  said  that  he  was  only  mad  nor'  nor'- 
west.  If  the  bold  breezes  that  hail  from  that  quarter  rushed 
on  Elsineur  as  they  rush  upon  this  headland  where  we  stand,  I 
do  not  wonder  if  they  dashed  into  his  soul  an  inspiration  whose 
wildness  might  seem  like  an  insanity  in  one  whose  spirit,  when 
the  wind  was  southerly,  was  sicklied  over  with  the  pale  cast  of 
thought,  or  flushed  by  sweet  affections  to  a  hue  no  deeper  than 
the  rath  primrose.  As  the  stimulating  influence  sweeps  stronger 
and  fuller  from  the  windows  of  the  sky,  the  mind  becomes  charged 
with  a  sensitiveness  of  fervor,  which  would  be  calm  and  rational 
if  it  might  cope  with  those  divine  interests  which  in  the  earn 
estness  of  this  moment  it  blindly  apprehends,  but  which  is  a 
drunkenness  of  the  faculties  when  turned  among  earthly  objects. 
For  my  own  part,  I  can  withstand  the  graciousness  of  nature, 
and  can  harden  my  spirit  into  a  wanton  kind  of  ingratitude  when 
she  woos  my  love  with  spring  airs  from  the  west,  or  summer 
breezes  of  the  south,  for  well  she  knows  that  the  turbulent  and 
torn  heart  of  her  son  is  mocked  more  than  soothed  by  such 
gentleness ;  but  when  she  condescends  to  loftier  pains  of  pleas 
ing,  and,  waking  the  harmonies  of  strength,  and  sounding  the 
lower  notes  of  her  organ  of  the  winds,  pours  over  the  earth  the 
free,  wild  music  of  the  north,  I  am  stung  into  a  delight  that 
overflows  to  tears ;  for  with  those  deep,  melancholy  tones  of 
might  my  nature  is  accordant.  To  be  great,  I  ask  little  but 
north  winds  and  leisure. 


No.  ii. 

WHEREFORE  should  the  soul  of  man  droop  or  be  disquieted 
within  him,  while  God  has  vouchsafed  to  us  such  sublime  sources 
of  consolation  as  the  mountains,  the  sea,  and  the  splendors 
of  the  sun-rise  ? — The  watches  of  the  night  are  over  :  Silence 
guarded  the  stern  vigils  of  suffering  and  gloom,  till,  like  a  gush 
of  love,  the  melody  of  morning  burst  from  the  skies,  and  scat 
tered  the  coward  troop  of  solitude.  Calm  with  the  confidence 


.  27.]     MONOLOGUES  AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS.  41 1 

of  joy — happy  as  he  to  whom  his  friends  have  returned — I  have 
stood  upon  this  mountain-rock,  from  the  budding  dawn  of  light, 
till  now,  when  the  full-expanded  flower  of  day  is  blooming  on 
the  stalk  of  Time,  shedding  the  odor  of  brightness  through  the 
universe.  Exalted  scene  of  might  made  beautiful  by  boundless 
Love  !  There  are,  to  whom  Night  with  her  stars  and  stillness 
is  a  fascination  :  the  deepest,  wildest  throb  of  delight  that  quiv 
ers  through  my  being,  is  when  the  first  red  gleam  of  the  sun  is 
flashed  across  the  abyss  of  air,  like  the  signal-gun  of  a  mon 
arch's  coming.  Beyond  every  living  thing  in  Nature,  my  feel 
ings  are  with  him :  when  I  behold  his  shining,  all  the  faculties 
of  my  existence  swell  forth  to  meet  his  forces.  The  slackened 
nerve  of  energy  once  more  is  bent  up,  and  "  a  short  youth  runs 
warm  through  every  vein." 

August  and  sovereign  Sun  !  Presence  of  grandeur !  Image 
of  high  command  !  Thy  rising  is  a  sacrament  of  strength  ;  and 
in  our  souls'  communion  with  thy  rays,  the  eternal  covenants  of 
Hope  are  renewed,  and  our  being's  high  sympathy  with  Truth 
and  Virtue  is  again  established.  Power  is  born  within  thy  pa 
laces  of  Light,  and  influences  of  Pleasure  ride  on  thy  rushing 
beams.  Stern  orb  of  Destiny !  what  issues  attend  upon  thy 
coming  !  Thy  motions  are  our  Fate,  and  thy  progress  up  yonder 
blue  arch  of  Heaven  shall  be  the  Anguish  or  the  Joy  of  Na 
tions.  Fierce  firstling  of  omnipotence !  in  whose  form  Infinity 
grew  palpable  in  splendors,  when  earliest  its  excess  of  energy 
overflowed  into  creation.  Almost  titles  of  divinity  are  thine. 
Thy  changes  are  earth's  epochs :  our  passions  and  our  actions 
wait  on  thee :  thou  goest  up  in  glory,  leading  the  hosts  of  Being. 
Author  of  order !  Token  of  Him  that  made  the  universe  I  To 
thee  it  is  given  daily  to  renew  the  wonders  of  the  primal  miracle, 
and  call  the  earth  into  beauty,  from  the  deep  of  Night  and 
Nothingness  !  Nay,  even  beyond  the  marvel  of  that  type,  thou 
makest  each  morning  as  many  worlds  as  there  are  minds  within 
it,  for  that  dawning  which  seemed  as  general  as  the  heavens  is  as 
particular  as  each  human  heart.  The  mingled  music  of  thy 
seven-toned  lyre  rolls  over  the  earth ;  childhood's  gentle  spirit, 
light-slumbering  on  its  violet-bed  of  visions,  catches  the  finest 


412  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  [Mur.  27. 

sound  of  the  rich  symphony — the  joy-note  of  the  strain — and, 
trembling  into  fine  accord  with  it,  wakes  to  its  fairer,  falser 
dream  of  real  life :  the  strong,  full  tone  of  Duty  sounds,  swells, 
and  echoes  through  the  soul  of  manhood  ;  the  laxer  ear  of  age 
faintly  hears  the  deep,  harsh  note  of  Custom,  heavily  vibrating 
with  weight  of  memories.  From  thy  golden  fountains  wells 
forth  that  perennial  stream  whence  all  drink  Life  and  Conscious 
ness  ;  to  different  lips,  how  various  is  the  taste  ;  to  some,  as 
sweet  as  praise  ;  to  some,  more  bitter  than  the  draughts  of 
Death  1  Proud,  melancholy  orb  !  lone  in  thy  lordliness  1  thou 
dwellest  in  thy  solitudes  of  splendor,  and  pourest  thy^wanty 
ceaselessly  on  all  things,  and  meetest  with  no  return.  Sriblime 
in  thine  unsocial  greatness  !  beyond  the  sympathies  of  those  on 
whom  thy  blessedness  is  lavished  1  sustained  by  the  great  hap 
piness  of  doing  good  without  reward  !  satisfied,  through  a  thou 
sand  ages,  with  the  pure  consciousness  of  duty !  Thou  art  the 
type  and  teacher  of  the  life  of  man.  Shine  on,  most  glorious 
orb ;  we  hail  in  thee  the  elder  brother  of  our  souls,  in  whose 
grandeur  our  nature  is  ennobled. 

Wearied  by  the  fret  and  wretchedness  of  society — vexed  and 
saddened  in  spirit  by  its  miserable  monotony  of  littleness — I 
have  come  to  dwell  amidst  the  expanses  of  Nature,  that  I  may 
find  that  companionship  which  the  world  does  not  afford  me,  and 
inhale  that  bracing  air  of  loftiness  and  force  by  which  my  youth 
ful  soul  was  nurtured.  From  the  exhausting  fervors  of  action — 
the  rage  of  ignoble  passions — the  excitements  which  convulse — 
the  experiences  which  deprave  the  heart — I  turn,  with  what 
large  relief  of  feeling  !  to  these  wide,  kingly  scenes,  which,  while 
they  stimulate  and  stir,  still  raise,  invigorate,  and  calm.  I  have 
ever  loved  to  have  my  being  the  subject  of  great  impressions  j 
and  I  find  nothing  that  is  great  in  the  politics,  the  business,  or 
the  literature  of  this  time.  But  when  I  seek  the  forests  or  the 
hills,  I  am  sure  of  being  in  a  majestic  presence.  Severe  or  soft, 
serene  or  in  storms,  Nature  at  least  is  always  grand.  In  all  her 
moods,  she  wears  an  aspect  of  sublimity.  Qualities  of  might 
dwell  among  her  retreats.  The  springs  of  energy  are  amidst 
her  depths.  Peace  spreads  her  courts  of  mystic  power  within 


2ETAT.  27.]      MONOLOGUES  AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS.  413 

her  valleys  :  sentiments  of  Purity  float,  like  their  snowy  mists, 
around  her  monumental  hills.  As  we  breathe  her  atmosphere 
of  greatness,  that  generosity  of  feeling,  which  the  world  had 
well  nigh  strangled,  lives  again  within  us.  From  her  fellowship, 
we  knit  to  our  souls  that  magnanimity  which  is  the  noblest  trea 
sure  of  our  nature,  the  ornament  and  crest  of  character,  a  god 
like  quality  above  the  name  of  virtue.  Her  solitudes  are 
inspiration  ;  in  them  we  meet  with  sensations  which  are  not  of 
Time — impressions,  weird,  startling,  not  exempt  from  terror — 
suggestions  of  the  Eternal.  Her  breezes,  to  me,  are  spirits  of 
power  from  the  far  home  of  the  soul,  issuing  forth  with  ghostly 
visitation,  to  whet  the  almost  blunted  purposes  of  Ambition, 
and  sting  the  mind  into  Resolution  through  Remorse  ;  they 
search  the  chambers  of  the  spirit,  and  champion  all  its  strength. 
Flushed  into  tameless  force,  by  those  influences  which  light  the 
gyr-eagle's  blazing  eyes,  and  charge  his  feathers  with  swiftness, 
Thought  springs  into  the  boundless  vast,  and,  with  sounding 
pinion,  wings  the  wide,  silent  sleep.  From  her  choirs,  the  poet's 
strain  snatches  sounds  that  out- voice  the  tempests  of  a  thousand 
years.  Those  endless,  ever-swelling  harmonies  that  roll  in  upon 
the  soul  from  the  broad  sea  of  Homer's  verse,  were  fashioned 
of  her  echoes.  Hers  are  the  eternal  fires  that  kindle  up  the  soft 
transparencies  of  Spenser.  Mighty  as  were  Lord  Byron's  na 
tive  faculties,  it  was  to  his  communion  with  nature,  chiefly,  that 
he  was  indebted  for  that  flashing  grandeur  of  imagination,  that 
rush  of  soul  and  torrent-strength  of  an  unblenching  mind,  and 
the  charm  of  a  spirit  magnificently  changeful. 

In  my  earlier  days,  while  the  cloud  of  the  Infinite  yet  hung 
around  the  soul,  informing  it  with  the  electric  might  that  dwells 
in  mystery,  I  needed  not  the  sight  of  outward  objects  to  delight, 
nor  the  force  of  outward  agencies  to  strengthen  me.  My  youth 
is  to  me  a  recollection  of  delight.  Existence  then  was  energy ; 
Thought  was  beauty ;  Consciousness  was  joy.  The  musing 
spirit  teemed  with  creations  of  loveliness  and  light ;  I  thought 
that  its  spontaneous  wealth  could  never  be  exhausted.  Fulsere 
quondam  candidi  libi  soles.  That  time  is  gone — that  pleasant 
time,  when,  every  morning,  soft,  budding  thoughts  were  cluster- 
35* 


414  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  [^TAT.  27. 

ing  round  my  mind — when,  within  the  inward  empyrean  of  me 
ditation,  shapes  of  enchantment,  sparkling  as  morning  on  the 
blue  Egean,  spotted  with  splendor,  rose  and  floated  through  the 
sapphire  atmosphere,  as  the  wreathed  clouds  beneath  a  stain 
less  sky  slowly  unveil  themselves  out  of  the  invisible  air.  But 
though  the  day  of  that  ethereal  susceptibility  is  gone,  in  which 
the  pulsations  of  the  blood  were  impressions  of  the  Intellect, 
when  I  felt  Fancies,  and  Thought  was  almost  a  physical  sensa 
tion,  yet  my  sensibility  to  the  effects  of  excellence  in  outward 
things  is  as  quick  and  tumultuous  as  ever.  The  faintest  appear 
ances  of  that  nameless  divine  essence  wake  my  feelings  into 
kindling  life.  There  still  remains  within  me,  undiminished  by 
calamities  and  cares,  that  calm,  intense,  and  exquisite  percep 
tion  which  can  distill  from  beauty  the  drops  of  ecstasy.  Time, 
who  as  often  plays  the  sudden  robber  as  the  subtle  thief,  has 
snatched  from  me  many  a  gift  of  strength  and  many  a  grace  of 
pleasure  ;  but  he  has  left  me  still  the  power  daily  to  hang  against 
the  eastern  sky  a  picture  whose  glow  of  gorgeousness  fires 
my  nature  into  rapture ;  the  power  to  be  delighted  almost  to 
delirium  with  the  rising  of  the  sun  ;  to  apprehend  in  the  beau 
tiful  a  majesty  which  almost  bows  down  and  prostrates  my  being 
before  it.  And  though  that  mantling  luxury  of  strength  which 
for  its  own  relief  threw  forth  the  forms  of  grace,  and  that  warm 
flush  of  sentiment  which  colored  them  into  celestial  loveliness, 
have  vanished — not  fading  by  their  own  weakness,  but  burned 
out  by  the  blaze  of  the  passions — their  removal  has  discovered 
stronger  and  more  enduring  faculties  in  the  resources  of  the  re 
solute  Will.  And  I  have  learned  to  see  in  the  fictions  of  the 
mind  a  far  deeper  value  and  significance,  and  a  far  loftier  office, 
than  I  had  conceived  of  in  the  wantonness  of  boyish  fancy. 
Let  no  man  regret  the  decline  of  youthful  fervor ;  for  the  world 
brings  to  us  a  knowledge  and  a  power  beyond  all  that  our  birth 
bestowed.  The  revelations  of  Time  are  full  of  wisdom.  I  have 
learned  to  see  in  that  dreaming  which  was  the  idleness  of  child 
hood,  the  true  dignity  and  highest  destiny  of  man. 

There  is  in  Life  an  idea  above  Life.     The  being  of  man  is 
infected  with  the  apprehension  of  a  state  and  character  of  exist- 


27.]      MONOLOGUES  AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS.  415 

ence  beyond  the  experience  of  his  daily  consciousness.  Toward 
this  condition,  his  nature  is  stung  by  a  perpetual  and  inherent 
uneasiness ;  and  in  it  alone  it  rests.  This  Life  above  Life  is 
Beauty ;  and  the  mean  of  its  realization  is  Art. 

"When  we  attain  to  the  Beautiful,  we  pass  to  a  different  region 
— we  rise  into  another  world.  For  though  the  Ideal  is,  in  its 
direct  analysis,  but  the  development,  completion,  and  perfect- 
ness  of  the  Actual,  yet  in  impression  and  effects  the  change  is 
of  essence.  In  those  subjects  of  more  complex  and  intricate 
relation  which  lie  above  the  range  of  mechanical  considera 
tions,  form  constitutes  character.  The  chymist  can  reproduce 
the  substance  of  every  element  and  every  organ  in  animal  life ; 
the  form,  he  cannot  produce.  In  the  capacity  to  impart  Form, 
consists  the  mystery  of  creation. 

Sensible  images  being  the  most  dominant  in  our  constitution, 
the  Beauty  of  material  shape  is  that  with  which  we  are  most 
conversant ;  and  to  the  laws  of  its  existence  and  evolution,  we 
give,  by  emphasis,  the  name  of  Art.  But  to  every  faculty  of 
our  nature,  and  every  subject  of  our  cognizance,  belong  its  pecu 
liar  beauty,  and  its  appropriate  Fine  Art.  Truth  is  the  beauty 
of  Intellectual  form,  and  Science  is  the  art  which  deals  with  it. 
Goodness  is  the  beauty  of  the  affections,  and  Religion  is  the  fine 
art  which  undertakes  to  produce  it.  Yirtue  is  the  beauty  of 
morals,  and  Philosophy  is  the  aBsthetics  of  that  perfectness.  So 
ciety  is  the  beauty  of  the  grand  ensemble  of  human  action,  and 
Politics  is  the  sublime  and  profoundly  difficult  art  by  which  it  is 
attained.  There  are  minds  to  which  the  abstract  beauty  of  ma 
thematical  forms  presents  itself  so  objectively  that  they  perceive 
in  it  a  richness  beyond  even  the  luxury  of  pictures  ;  but  they  are 
rare  souls,  fashioned  in  Nature's  pride. 

To  evolve  the  Beautiful,  in  all  its  various  departments,  is  the 
end  and  object  of  man's  existence ;  it  is  the  great  duty  of  our 
species.  We  were  formed,  not  to  enjoy,  but  to  produce.  The 
life  of  the  race  is  a  grand  and  continuing  process  of  creation 
in  which  Deity  acts,  not  directly,  but  through  the  medium  of 
man's  nature.  And  this  glorious  purpose  of  our  being  is  ac 
complished  mainly  by  those  things  which  we  blindly  call  the 


416  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  [JErAT.  27. 


defects  and  evils  of  our  nature  and  condition.  For  suffering  is 
the  source  of  action,  the  moving  power  of  the  moral  being. 
Man  never  moves,  and  cannot  move,  but  upon  the  impulses  of 
Buffering  ;  even  when  led  on  by  foregoing  pleasures,  he  advances 
because  the  thought  of  a  pleasure  unpossessed  is  pain.  Were  we 
happy,  we  should  be  cyphers.  Moral  evil  is  therefore  the  ser 
vant  of  God's  design,  and  a  minister  of  man's  greatness  ;  for 
goodness  renders  men  happy,  and  wickedness  is  necessary  to  fill 
their  souls  with  the  forces  of  wretchedness.  It  is  thus,  by  throw 
ing  imperfection  and  the  consequent  power  of  pain  into  the 
world,  and  evil  with  its  attendant  energy  into  the  human  heart, 
that  the  sublime  career  of  life  has  been  set  going.  Beauty  is  in 
its  own  nature  immortal,  serene  and  satisfying  ;  and  its  immor 
tality  is  the  appointed  refuge  of  our  souls  from  the  stings  and 
punishments  of  Time.  Our  disappointments  and  our  sorrows 
are  our  truest  friends  ;  for  they  compel  us  to  create.  Our  suf 
ferings  are  our  glory.  Pain  is  the  kindly  discipline  of  him  that 
would  have  us  to  be  great.  We  are  hunted  into  greatness  :  we 
are  whipped  and  scourged  into  Fame.  Cast  thine  eyes  upon 
the  splendid  productions  of  the  past,  thou  that  murmurest  at 
the  dispensations  of  Providence,  and  see  the  sublime  monument 
of  man's  woes  and  wants,  his  privations,  his  inward  agonies  ; 
and  behold  the  justification  of  creative  love.  Persons  may  be 
destroyed  ;  hearts  may  be  crushed  ;  but  the  beaming  car  of  In 
tellectual  Life  moves  on  in  glittering  majesty  and  sounding 
pomp.  God  is  glorified  ;  and  man,  made  honorable  in  despite 
of  his  wishes,  leaves  the  tracks  of  Time  strewed  with  the  spoils 
of  Eternity. 

The  treasures  of  Art  are  the  trophies  of  our  race.  Of  an 
essence  beyond  mortality  —  gleaming  with  an  inherent,  star-soft 
lustre  —  they  hang  on  high  along  the  firmament  of  Fame,  the 
appropriate  and  imperishable  evidences  of  the  lofty  destiny  of 
him  from  whom  they  emanated.  They  are  the  sublime  and 
silent  signals  by  which  the  Past  converses  with  the  Future. 
Time,  whose  touch  is  the  tarnish  of  the  earthly,  is  to  them  a 
handmaid  and  a  beautifier.  They  gather  those  rays  of  another 
sphere  which  are  wandering  through  our  atmosphere,  and  reflect 


.  27.]      MONOLOGUES  AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS.  417 

them  down  upon  our  spirits.     They  are  a  presence  of  Eternity 
amid  the  changeful  strifes  of  the  world. 

And  why  has  not  this  age  and  country  given  forth  its  contin 
gent  of  immortal  works  ?  Why  should  we  remain  forever 
appalled  and  paralyzed  by  the  perfections  of  Grecian  excellence  ? 
Who  shall  set  up  the  pillars  of  literature,  and  say,  "  Beyond  the 
daring  of  the  Past,  Futurity  shall  never  go  ?"  Men  still  are 
men  ;  the  inspiring  forces  of  sky  and  earth,  of  rock  and  water, 
are  not  diminished.  On  each  new  morning  of  creation  the  ma 
jestic  life  of  Nature  rouses  itself  in  all  its  beaut}'',  and,  shaking 
magnificence  from  all  its  motions,  goes  forth  in  power,  and  joy, 
and  thrilling  youth ;  shall  not  our  spirit  attend  its  march,  and 
be  incorporate  with  it  in  ever-living  force  ?  There  is  no  lack 
of  energy  in  the  character  of  our  country  ;  but  it  is  wasted  upon 
interests,  transitory  and  deciduous.  The  power  of  the  modern 
soul,  swept  by  passions  which  the  elder  world  knew  not  of,  often 
foams  into  splendor ;  but  it  is  a  flash  as  wild  and  evanescent  as 
the  yellow  gleam  of  the  morning  ray  upon  the  dashing  waves 
of  the  Adriatic.  Instead  of  that  intense  concentration  of  power 
and  purpose  which  brought  all  the  light  of  Being  to  one  star- 
like  focus,  we  behold,  in  the  instincts  of  the  modern  character, 
a  tendency  to  disperse  and  scatter  the  rays  of  mind.  Single, 
almost  to  narrowness,  calm,  self-controlled,  and  patient,  the 
Greek  sought  ever  to  turn  every  shape  to  beauty,  to  garner  up 
every  feeling  into  the  perpetuity  of  art ;  hence,  while  our  results 
are  fragmentary  and  fugitive,  his  productions  have  a  character 
of  Everlasting. 

The  causes  of  the  inferiority,  or  rather  the  utter  and  absolute 
failure,  of  modern  effort,  I  think  that  I  can  in  some  slight  de 
gree  unfold.  They  consist  mainly  in  our  not  understanding  the 
true  nature  of  Art,  in  what  it  consists,  and  of  what  dignity  it 
is.  I  love  my  fellows,  and  I  love  my  country  ;  though  I  asso 
ciate  not  with  the  one,  and  extol  not  the  other.  I  cherish,  above 
every  other  wish,  the  desire  to  see  my  countrymen  come  forward 
into  the  line  of  the  true  greatness  of  the  race  ;  and  at  some 
future  time  I  hope  to  find,  among  the  youthful  men  of  genius  in 
our  land,  a  few  hearers  of  the  views  which  I  have  to  offer 


418  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  [^!TAT.  27. 

Taking  up  their  writings,  and  those  which  have  been  their  mo 
dels,  I  shall  suggest  to  them  that  they  have  not  yet  attained  one 
correct  conception  of  what  Art  is — that  they  have  still  to  ac 
quire  the  first  elements  of  sesthetical  education. 


No.  ill. 

How  glorious,  above  all  earthly  glory,  are  the  faculty  and 
mission  of  the  Poet !  His  are  the  flaming  thoughts  that  pierce 
the  veil  of  heaven — his  are  the  feelings,  which  on  the  wings  of 
rapture  sweep  over  the  abyss  of  ages.  The  star  of  his  being 
is  a  splendor  of  the  world. 

The  Poet's  state  and  attributes  are  half  divine.  The  breezes 
of  gladness  are  the  heralds  of  his  approach  ;  the  glimpse  of  his 
coming  is  as  the  flash  of  the  dawn.  The  hues  of  Conquest  flush 
his  brow :  the  anger  of  triumph  is  in  his  eyes.  The  secret  of 
Creation  is  with  him  ;  the  mystery  of  the  Immortal  is  amongst 
his  treasures.  The  doom  of  unending  sovereignty  is  upon  his 
nature.  The  meditations  of  his  mind  are  Angels,  and  their  issu 
ing  forth  is  with  the  strength  of  Eternity.  The  talisman  of  his 
speech  is  the  sceptre  of  the  free.  The  decrees  of  a  dominion 
whose  sway  is  over  spirits,  and  whose  continuance  is  to  everlast 
ing,  go  out  from  before  him  ;  and  that  ethereal  essence,  which  is 
the  untamable  in  man — which  is  the  liberty  of  the  Infinite 
within  the  bondage  of  life — is  obedient  to  them.  His  phrases 
are  the  forms  of  Power :  his  syllables  are  agencies  of  Joy. 

With  men  in  his  sympathies,  that  he  may  be  above  them  in 
his  influence,  his  nature  is  the  jewel-clasp  that  binds  Humanity 
to  Heaven.  It  mediates  between  the  earthly  and  celestial :  in 
the  vigor  of  his  production,  divinity  becomes  substantial ;  in  the 
sublimity  of  his  apprehensions,  the  material  loses  itself  into 
spirit.  It  is  his  to  drag  forth  the  eternal  from  our  mortal  form 
of  being — to  tear  the  Infinite  into  our  bounden  state  of  action. 
What  conqueror  has  troops  like  his  ? — the  spirit-forces  of  Lan 
guage — those  subtle  slaves  of  Mind,  those  impetuous  masters 
of  the  Passions — whose  mysterious  substance  who  can  compre- 


.  27.]      MONOLOGUES  AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS.  419 

hend — whose  mighty  operation  what  can  combat  ?  Evolved, 
none  knoweth  how,  within  the  curtained  chambers  of  existence 
— half-physical,  half-ideal,  and  finer  than  all  the  agencies  of 
Time — linked  together  by  spells,  which  are  the  spontaneous 
magic  of  genius,  which  he  that  can  use,  never  understands — the 
weird  hosts  of  words  fly  forth,  silently,  with  silver  wings,  to  win 
resistlessly  against  the  obstacles  of  Days,  and  Distance,  and 
Destruction,  to  fetter  nations  in  the  viewless  chains  of  admira 
tion,  and  be,  in  the  ever-presence  of  their  all-vitality,  the  immor 
tal  portion  of  their  author's  being.  Say  what  we  will  of  the 
real  character  of  the  strifes  of  war,  and  policy,  and  wealth,  the 
accents  of  the  singer  are  the  true  acts  of  the  race.  What  prince, 
in  the  secret  places  of  his  dalliance,  uses  such  delights  as  his  ? 
Passing  through  the  life  of  the  actual,  with  its  transitory  blisses, 
its  deciduous  hopes,  its  quickly  waning  fires,  his  interests  dwell 
only  in  the  deep  consciousness  of  the  soul  and  mind,  to  which 
belong  undecaying  raptures,  and  the  tone  of  a  godlike  force. 
Within  that  glowing  universe  of  Sentiment  and  Fancy,  which 
he  generates  from  his  own  strenuous  and  teeming  spirit,  he  is 
visited  by  immortal  forms,  whose  motions  torment  the  heart 
with  ecstasy — whose  vesture  is  of  light. — whose  society  is  a 
fragrance  of  all  the  blossoms  of  Hope.  To  him  the  True  ap 
proaches  in  the  radiant  garments  of  the  Beautiful ;  the  Good 
unveils  to  him  the  princely  splendors  of  her  native  lineaments, 
and  is  seen  to  be  Pleasure.  His  soul  lies  strewn  upon  its  flow 
ery  desires,  while,  from  the  fountains  of  ideal  loveliness,  flows 
softly  over  him  the  rich,  warm  luxury  of  the  Fancy's  passion. 
His  Joys  are  Powers ;  and  it  is  the  blessedness  of  his  condition 
that  Triumph  to  him  is  prepared  not  by  toil,  but  by  indulgence. 
Begotten  by  the  creative  might  of  rapture,  and  beaming  with 
the  strength  of  the  delight  of  their  conception,  the  shapes  of 
his  imagination  come  forth  in  splendor,  and  he  fascinates  the 
world  with  his  felicities. 

Art  is  greater  than  Science ;  for  to  create  is  more  than  to 
know.  In  science,  we  explore  the  harmony  and  order  of  things 
in  their  relations  to  a  centre  infinitely  from  them  and  us :  by 
Art,  we  compel,  through  the  transmuting  ardors  of  our  moral 


420  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

being,  things  to  assume  a  new  order  and  harmony  in  relation  to 
ourselves  as  a  centre.  The  natural  sciences  are  God's  fine  arts ; 
the  fine  arts,  as  we  know  them,  are  the  manifestations  and  mo 
numents  of  man's  divinity. 

The  scientific  faculty  is  the  pure  Intellect :  artistic  energy 
lies  in  the  conjunction  of  the  Passions  and  Intellect.  Intellect, 
warmed,  animated  and  urged  by  the  interfused  fire  of  the  Pas 
sions — Passion,  illuminated,  informed,  and  guided  by  the  perva 
sive  light  of  Intellect — is  the  creative  faculty  or  force  in  man. 
Material  instinct,  raised  and  rarified  by  thought,  is  the  ideal. 
In  the  race  and  in  the  individual,  the  era  of  art  is  at  the  com 
mencement  of  the  middle  period  of  existence ;  for  then  the  pas 
sions  and  the  intellect  are  in  the  due  degree  of  equipoise. 

True  Science,  then,  consists  in  a  subjection  of  the  mind  to 
the  forms  actually  existing  in  the  outer  world :  Art  is  the  sub 
jecting  of  the  substance  of  outward  things  to  the  forms  pre 
existing  in  the  mind.  Art,  therefore,  through  all  its  multiform 
illustrations,  is  of  two  parts ;  the  natural  substance  and  the 
imparted  form :  the  vital  union  of  the  two  is  Beauty  in  some 
department  of  aesthetics.  In  sculpture,  painting,  music  and 
poetry,  the  material  is  the  stone,  the  color,  the  sound,  and  the 
language  ;  the  form  is  the  soul's  conception  of  the  fair  or  great : 
their  combination  constitutes  all  the  immortalities  of  Phidias 
and  Raphael,  of  Mozart  and  of  Milton. 

Wherever  you  have  a  substance  capable  of  being  made  sub 
ject  to  the  forms  which  feeling  paints  upon  the  understanding, 
you  have  scope  for  a  fine  art.  The  life  of  man,  then,  is  the 
greatest  of  the  Fine  Arts.  The  stuff  that  it  is  wrought  of,  is 
the  condition,  acts,  and  circumstances  of  humanity.  The  in 
stinctive  efforts  of  each  person  to  cut  or  mould  these  into  shapes 
conceived  by  his  own  Ambition,  Yanity,  or  Love  of  Pleasure, 
give  us  a  work  of  art ;  sometimes  magnificent,  and  sometimes 
ridiculous ;  brilliant  or  burlesque  ;  fine  or  fantastic  ;  wonderful 
or  worthless ;  in  most  cases  a  simple  failure  ;  in  the  greatest 
instances,  a  melancholy  torso. 

The  current  of  Things  flows  ever  on  toward  the  throne  of 
God :  man's  being  is  an  element  cast  in  to  take  or  make  its 


.  27.]      MONOLOGUES  AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS.  421 

fate :  the  man  of  perceptions,  who  is  the  philosopher,  arranges 
his  feelings  according  to  the  laws  which  he  sees  established,  and 
floats  with  the  stream :  the  man  of  passions,  who  is  the  actor- 
artist,  sets  his  nature  traverse  to  the  course  of  events,  endeavor 
ing  to  soothe  or  storm  them  to  his  will.  This  poetry  of  action, 
this  architecture  in  history,  demand  a  front  and  force  almost 
divine ;  for  the  particles  of  social  life  are  kept  in  form  by  a 
magnetism  whose  axis  is  the  sceptre  of  the  heavens ;  to  over 
come  and  change  that  order,  the  soul  of  man  must  be  intensely 
charged  with  power.  Nature,  more  than  our  will,  sets  us  on  this 
desperate  enterprise ;  for  at  a  certain  period  of  existence,  Imagi 
nation,  winged  by  emotion,  assumes  a  kind  of  personality  distinct 
from  ourselves,  and  whirls  us  headlong  into  the  lists.  For  my 
own  part,  I  have  not  become  content  to  trifle  with  the  airy  es 
sences  of  thoughts  and  words,  without  having  first  fought  with 
the  rougher  substances  of  Life,  and  exhausted  in  that  contest  the 
last  contingents  of  Hope.  But  I  have  no  instructions  to  impart 
respecting  this  life-craft.  I  understand  it  not :  it  is  to  me  a 
mystery  and  a  puzzle.  My  observation  has  shown  me  many 
courses  that  are  fatal;  none  that  are  wise.  It  is  to  me  an  inex 
tricable  tangle  of  contradictory  principles  and  conflicting  pur 
poses  ;  a  system,  of  which  different  parts  seem  to  be  under  the 
jurisdiction  of  distinct  and  jealous  deities — the  constitution  of 
man  being  planned  upon  one  design,  its  development  being 
directed  by  another,  and  the  end  and  result  of  the  whole  being 
regulated  by  a  third  law  thwarting  both — as  also  the  wise  fab 
ling  of  the  ancients  showed  in  the  fiction  of  the  three  Fates  ;  a 
scheme,  in  which  success  and  failure  are  but  different  modes 
of  punishment,  and  good  and  evil  but  varied  methods  of  arriv 
ing  at  it — in  which  nothing  is  certain  but  the  suffering  of  man. 
For  myself,  the  glory  of  my  life  has  proved  its  bitter  perplexity : 
when  I  touched  the  glittering  prize  it  exploded  with  ruin  and 
amazement.  How  gorgeous  was  that  conflagration  of  the  Feel 
ings,  which  in  youth  wrapped  the  battlements  of  life  in  splendor, 
to  leave  them  in  ashes !  How  wild,  that  swelling  strength  that 
then  sprang  forth  in  insolence  of  power,  to  win  the  terrible 
defeats  of  victory,  and  reap  that  cureless  disappointment  which 
36 


422  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

lies  in  the  success  of  the  passions  I  Never  to  have  tasted  Joy, 
is  a  privation  ;  to  have  commanded  all  its  resources,  is  the  sad 
dest  of  human  calamities.  The  failures  of  Love  are  bitter ;  but 
triumph  is  the  most  hopeless  of  them.  A  stout  mind  endures 
repulse,  and  even  is  strengthened  by  it ;  but  from  the  moral 
overthrow  of  boundless  gratification,  there  is  no  re-action. 
Talis  frangit  fortia  corda  dolor.  The  pleasure-tides  of  Hope 
have  ebbed  away,  and  return  to  me  no  more  :  thrown  high  upon 
the  beach,  I  lie  amid  the  wrecks  and  rubbish  of  old  and  ruined 
schemes.  From  the  profession  of  life-artist,  therefore,  I  have 
retired,  having  totally  failed  in  it.  But,  alas  !  it  will  not  give 
up  its  liens  upon  me.  By  the  keen  enjoyments  of  earlier  being, 
I  have  provoked  the  animosities  of  Pain,  which  seems,  with  mad 
resentment,  to  take  its  revenge  on  a  nature  which  had  defied  it, 
by  stinging  it  through  madness  into  insensibility — and  have 
accumulated  upon  the  hours  of  thought,  an  agony  beneath  whose 
weight  the  darkened  mind  reels.  The  passions  need  no  scourg- 
ings  but  their  own.  Intense  delights,  even  of  the  purest  kind, 
seem  to  be  a  kind  of  sin  against  the  moderation  of  nature ;  and 
the  recollection  of  them  is  a  species  of  Remorse,  which,  like  a 
deadly  arrow  from  the  quiver  of  the  great  hunter,  Nemesis, 
drinks  from  the  side  of  its  victim,  drop  by  drop,  the  streams  of 
life.  From  tht.  delirium  of  that  passionate  influence  which 
maddens  to  emasculate,  we  wake  in  weakness  and  anguish ;  and 
can  only  utter  the  wild,  hopeless  cry  of  Atys — "Jam,  jam  dolet 
quod  egi,  jam,  jamque  poznitet!"  My  day,  then,  being  ended, 
let  me  creep  into  the  cave  of  Death,  and  lie  snugly  housed  there, 
while  the  flying  troops  of  Existence  sweep  to  and  fro  over  my 
head. 

But  thought  survives  when  the  Passions  have  been  slain ;  and 
from  its  depths,  creations  divinely  delicate,  yet  dauntless  in  en 
durance,  may  still  be  made  to  give  themselves  forth.  Those 
exquisite  porcelain  moulds  of  poetic  fancy,  which,  when  pressed 
upon  the  rude  matter  of  actual  life,  were  shattered  into  frag 
ments,  may  here  impart  their  loveliness  of  form  to  essences  as 
fine  as  light.  The  pride  that  was  lost  by  Action,  may  be  reco 
vered  in  Art. 


.  27.]      MONOLOGUES  AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS.  423 

Literary  art  is  the  chief  subject  of  our  present  concern ;  let 
us  understand  its  nature  and  development.  ^Esthetic  power,  I 
have  said,  consists  in  a  certain  harmony  and  conjoint  action  of 
the  affective  faculties  with  the  intellectual :  but  this  union  con 
stitutes  the  Sentiments,  which,  therefore,  are  the  creative  ele 
ments  in  our  nature.  Phrenology  recognizes  this  triple  division 
of  our  mental  organization ;  assigning  the  passions  to  the  rear 
and  base  of  the  brain,  the  intellect  to  the  forehead,  and  the  sen 
timents  to  the  central  parts  between  them :  and  beyond  this 
grouping,  the  classifications  of  that  science  are  hardly  to  be 
relied  on.  Sympathy  with  the  merely  physical  emotions  may  so 
predominate  in  a  literary  work,  that  it  shall  not  rise  to  the  cha 
racter  of  art  at  all.*  On  the  other  hand,  the  reaction  of  the 
intellectual  element  may  be  so  strong,  that  the  production  passes 
quite  out  of  the  region  of  genuine  art,  into  the  thinner  air  of 
metaphysics  :  it  is  in  the  due  proportion  of  the  two  that  the 
perfectness  of  art  consists.  The  mistake  of  approving  the  for 
mer  of  these  conditions,  is  not  common  or  lasting ;  the  impos 
ture,  indeed,  could  never  take  effect,  but  in  an  age  when  the  mob 
are  the  arbiters  of  reputation ;  who,  imagining  that  they  are 
raised  to  the  level  of  literature,  when  in  truth  literature  is  let 
down  to  their  level,  are  of  course  delighted  with  productions 
which  they  know  how  to  appreciate.  But  the  latter  evil,  as  an 
error  in  opinion,  and  a  fault  in  practice,  is  in  modern  times 
nearly  universal ;  and  in  view  of  this,  it  can  hardly  be  too  often 
or  too  strongly  insisted  that  the  sensuous  quality  is  the  true 
and  peculiar  characteristic  of  art.  According  to  my  view  of  it, 
art  is  nothing  else  than  an  intellectual  image  of  passion :  it  is 
passion,  so  far  abstracted  as,  without  parting  from  its  own  es 
sence,  to  assume  a  mental  form  ;  or,  it  is  a  rational  conception 
made  concrete  and  palpable  in  something  which  addresses  itself 
to  that  part  of  our  nature  which  is  not  purely  intellectual.  It  is 
a  creation  ;  and  the  affective  energies,  whether  for  re-production 

*  To  this  class,  I  refer  the  writings  of  Dickens,  Sue,  <fec.  Their  power  over 
every  one  that  reads  them,  is  intense  and  irresistible;  but  it  is  impossible  to 
treat  them  as  works  of  art.  Whoever  admired  an  execution  ?  Who  but  is 
fearfully  interested  by  one  ? 


424  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

or  for  new  production,  are  the  creative  in  man,  the  others  hav 
ing  capacity  of  perception,  selection,  and  repression,  not  of 
generation : — it  is  a  thing  of  power ;  and  the  more  physical 
qualities  being  the  more  sympathetic,  must  enter  into  every 
thing  which  is  to  have  power  over  men  : — it  is  not  notional,  like 
science,  but  is  substantial,  and  must  be  wrought  of  those  con 
stituents  which  are  the  most  material  in  our  intelligent  nature. 

We  see  from  this  how  large  a  part  the  consideration  of  Lan 
guage  must  have  in  our  conceptions  of  Art.  It  is  no  part  of 
science  ;  it  is  of  the  essence  of  art — it  is  its  hypostasis.  Science 
is  the  separate  action  of  the  intellect,  which  is  merely  analytic. 
Art  is  the  heroic  offspring  which  is  engendered  when  the  divinity 
of  mind  embraces  with  the  human  voluptuousness  of  passion :  it 
is  the  magnetic  energy  that  is  evolved  when  intellect  and  feeling 
re-act  on  one  another  in  all  the  power  of  their  mystic  co-re 
lation.  The  first  and  most  natural  shape  in  which  artistic  action 
within  man's  nature  gives  itself  forth,  is  gesture  and  motion, 
which,  therefore,  might  be  called  the  earliest  and  simplest  of  the 
fine  arts.  Sound,  likewise,  is  a  natural  menstruum  of  artistic 
spirit.  When  the  constructive  instinct  predominates  among  the 
feelings,  Architecture  is  the  form  in  which  Beauty  is  born  of  the 
marriage  of  the  mental  with  the  material.  Language  is  the 
highest  and  most  general  of  all  the  modes  of  utterance.  In  its 
first  and  true  nature,  it  is  less  an  expression  than  an  emanation 
. — a  natural  effect  of  this  dynamic  condition  of  the  faculties — a 
gesture,  as  it  were,  produced  by  the  struggle  of  instinct  and  in 
telligence,  and  propagated  through  the  organs  of  speech.  As 
passion  predominates  in  that  state  of  relation  between  the  dif 
ferent  parts  of  our  being  from  which  language  proceeds,  it  is  ob 
vious  that  the  language  will  be  picturesque  and  musical  in  its 
character,  concrete  and  definite,  material,  a-glow  with  sensuous 
life  :  as  intellect  gains  head  in  the  combination,  and  language 
grows  to  be  less  the  spontaneous  overflow  of  emotion  than  the 
ductile  expression  of  the  thoughts,  it  becomes  abstract,  specula 
tive,  thin  and  dry.  In  the  language  of  the  poet,  then,  you  read 
the  degrees  in  which  the  affective  and  the  intellectual,  respect 
ively,  have  contributed  to  his  work;  in  other  words,  the  degree 


.  27.]      MONOLOGUES  AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS.  425 

in  which  his  work  is  truly  Art.  The  censure  of  language  is, 
therefore,  a  criticism  upon  the  genius  :  when  you  judge  the  style, 
you  are  analyzing  the  mind.  Language  is  the  clothing  of  science, 
it  is  the  organization  of  art ;  it  serves  the  former  for  intercourse 
with  the  world,  it  is  the  life  and  being  of  the  other. 

The  sentiments,  blended  of  passion  and  intelligence,  the  true 
seat  of  creative  vigor,  have,  in  like  matmer,  a  triple  division ; 
they  are  the  moral,  the  spiritual,  and  the  merely  natural ;  so  dis 
tinct  from  one  another  as  almost  to  be  opposed  ;  in  the  develop 
ment  of  all  which  consists  the  civility  of  the  race.  In  the  great 
work  of  effecting  this  civility,  the  task  of  educating  the  moral 
sentiments  was  assigned  to  the  Romans  ;  of  the  spiritual  to  the 
Hebrews ;  of  those  which  I  have  called  natural,  to  the  Greeks : 
and  in  the  literature  of  these  three  nations,  you  have  the  same 
phenomena  of  life  and  man  exhibited  under  the  natural  point  of 
view,  under  the  spiritual,  and  under  the  moral.  These  natural 
sentiments  acting  aesthetically,  result  in  the  conception  of  the 
Beautiful ;  and  their  display  in  the  Greek  organization  took 
place  under  the  conditions  of  an  immense  intellectual  develop 
ment,  a  very  limited  moral  one,  and  little  or  nothing  of  spiritual 
perception  :  Greek  art,  then,  embodies  natural  emotions  with  a 
most  exquisite  fineness  of  illustration,  and  presents  a  most  subtle 
analysis  of  the  natural  sensibilities,  but  is  unplagued  by  moral 
questionings,  or  the  morbid  apprehensions  of  spiritual  conscious 
ness.  That  predominance  of  the  moral  faculties,  which  evolved, 
in  the  Roman  state,  the  greatest  system  of  law,  society,  and 
politics  that  the  ancient  world  had  seen,  while  it  condemned  the 
Latins  to  rather  a  debased  species  of  art,  led  them  to  the  in 
vention  of  one  form  of  poetry  unknown  to  the  Greeks,  that  of 
moral  satire.  In  the  Hebrew  organization  we  behold  an  enor 
mous  excess  of  the  spiritual  functions  with  a  very  defective 
moral  faculty,  and  even  a  mean  intellectual  ability :  passion, 
therefore,  overmastering  reason  in  the  composition  of  their 
poetry,  it  became  the  most  vehement,  substantial,  and  intense, 
that  man  has  ever  produced.  These  three  distinct  elements  of 
civility  flowed  into  one  at  the  commencement  of  the  Christian 
36* 


426  MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.  [^TAT.  27. 


era  ;  and  modern  life  and  modern  art  are  the  mingled  action  of 
all  of  them. 

Effluent  from  the  feelings,  tempers  and  fancies  of  an  humanity 
that  claimed  no  higher  origin  than  the  flower-beanng  Earth, 
yet  inerrant  and  exact  as  geometry  itself  —  combining  the  freedom 
of  nature  in  the  conception  of  thoughts  with  the  precision  of 
science  in  the  expression  of  them  —  infinitely  refined  in  its  sym 
pathies,  yet  simple,  strong  and  never  offering  at  any  thing  false 
or  unsound  —  sensitive,  with  an  equal  fidelity,  to  the  most  mate 
rial  instincts  that  inhabit  the  depths  of  our  nature,  and  the 
airiest  gleams  of  emotion  that  flit  over  its  surface,  and  sovereign, 
with  equal  ease,  to  summon  them  to  become  the  eternal,  life- 
giving  spirits  of  some  fair  form  of  words  —  searching  every  thing 
with  the  lights  of  philosophy,  that  it  may  decorate  every  thing 
with  the  lustre  of  beauty  —  subduing  passion  to  the  yoke  of  logic, 
and  giving  to  pure  reason  almost  the  warmth  and  loveliness  of 
feeling  —  able,  by  the  telescopic  powers  of  its  language,  to  ad 
vance  the  indefinite  into  distinctness,  and  to  make  reality  recede 
away  into  a  vagueness  as  dim  as  air  —  intense,  yet  expansive, 
comprehensive  and  yet  particular,  fervid  without  faultiness,  glow 
ing  and  still  controlled,  natural  but  refined  —  daring  any  thing 
except  deformity,  fearing  nothing  but  to  violate  grace,  regard 
less  of  all  laws  but  those  of  Beauty  —  delight  of  the  sense  and 
wonder  of  the  mind  —  Hellenic  Art  stands  on  high,  like  the 
grouped  stars  of  Heaven,  at  once  a  superstition,  a  rapture,  and 
a  science.  The  forms  of  Grecian  brightness  do  not  flare  and 
blaze  like  the  fires  of  modern  ardor,  nor  are  they,  as  the  priestly 
poetry  of  Israel,  distorted  by  the  inspiration  with  which  they 
swell  ;  but,  serene  and  genial,  they  glow  with  a  native  brilliance 
that  softens  the  surrounding  atmosphere  with  the  light  of  joy 
and  the  warmth  of  repose.  From  the  quiet  of  their  lofty  seats 
they  seem  to  look  down  upon  the  rivalries  of  ostentatious  Rome, 
the  fanatic  furiousness  of  Judea,  the  madness  of  Gothic  fervor, 
and  to  say,  "  Quare  fremuerunt  gentes,  et  populi  meditati  sunt 
inania  ?"  That  literature  is  not  plagued  with  those  desperate 
"  questionings  of  outward  things,"  that  abnormal  apprehension 
of  things  not  palpable  and  nigh,  which  has  infected  our  poetry 


.  27.]      MONOLOGUES  AMON.G  THE  MOUNTAINS.  427 

from  Judea,  nor  tormented  with  that  analytic  temper  that  will 
not  enjoy  but  moralize,  that  too  profoundly  meditative,  Roman 
mood,  which  draws  out  a  bitterness  from  every  pleasure,  which 
regrets  the  Past,  or  desponds  over  the  Future,  instead  of  exulting 
in  the  Present.  It  was  this  want  in  the  Grecian  nature,  of  the 
spiritual  and  moral  sense,  that  made  Grecian  art  peculiar  and 
unimitable  :  for  Art,  in  the  purity  of  its  philosophical  conception, 
is  essentially  a  heathen  thing ;  that  is  to  say,  is  constituted  of 
those  carnal  apprehensions  of  the  grand,  the  graceful  and  the 
fair,  whose  integrity  is  impaired  by  the  influence  of  any  thoughts 
not  of  earth  and  the  present.  Glad  and  innocent  as  childhood, 
yet,  like  childhood  or  summer,  overcome  sometimes  in  the  very 
acme  of  brightness  by  a  dark  cloud  whose  origin  and  nature  and 
purpose  were  utterly  inexplicable,  the  Greeks  seem  to  be  moving 
about  in  that  paradise  of  careless,  joyous  ease,  which  the  world 
was,  before  the  wretched  knowledge  of  good  and  evil  had  in 
vaded  it.  When  I  seek  for  Purity,  let  me  be  aided  by  the  suf 
fering  song  of  David ;  but  I  desire  to  be  all  Pagan  in  my  ap 
preciation  of  the  Beautiful.  What  relief  it  is,  to  turn  away  from 
the  frantic  fooleries  of  theological  contests  (the  vice  and  shame 
of  this  age),  and  from  the  metaphysical  perplexities  of  recent 
poetry — to  the  rich  and  soft  repose  of  Grecian  art — to  that 
calmness  which  is  strength  and  wisdom,  that  silent  grandeur 
which  is  freedom  and  peace  !  Greek  literature  ! — delight  of  my 
boyhood — only  friend  of  my  inmost  being — how  should  I  live 
without  it  ?  Fair  Spirit  of  true  art !  pure,  beautiful,  divine — 
comforter,  companion,  and  enchantress — that  in  the  white  dawn 
of  Ionian  glory,  unveiling  thy  kindling  fascinations  to  mortals, 
didst  infuse  a  love  that  grew  to  inspiration  !  Thou  art  delicious, 
to  wake  affection ;  and  august,  that  thou  mayst  deserve  our 
worship.  The  admiration  of  thy  charms  is  cleansing ;  the  in 
fluence  of  thy  nearness  purges  our  privacies  of  thought.  Over  the 
glossy  streams  that  gush  from  thy  sacred  mountain  is  written — 

.     .     .     .     PurS,  cum  vesta  venite, 

Et  manibus  puris  sumite  fontis  aquam. 

Reigning  over  our  Fancy,  thou  servest  in  the  cause  of  virtue : 
for,  showing  us  what  marvels  may  be  accomplished  by  those 


428  MISCELLANEOUS    PIECES.  [JET  AT.  27. 

who  are  possessed  with  the  Idea  of  the  Perfect,  thou  dost  incite 
us  to  mightier  and  unceasing  efforts  in  the  higher  sesthesis  of 
virtue  and  goodness. 

Latin  art  in  letters  has  been  underrated  by  critics  from  not 
being  well  understood.  It  is  not  that,  being  of  one  nature  with 
Greek  art,  it  is  inferior  to  it  in  quality ;  in  its  elements  and  pur 
poses  it  is  essentially  different.  It  is  not  composed  of  those 
merely  physical  sentiments  which  Attic  genius  sought  indeed  to 
elevate,  but  not  to  modify ;  it  does  not  seek  for  a  pure  and  purged 
apprehension  of  natural  beauty :  it  has  a  conscience — which 
Greece  never  knew.  It  is  fashioned  of  the  moral  instincts  and 
sympathies ;  and  if  any  one  would  behold  these,  under  their 
various  development  of  personal  dignity,  domestic  affection 
social  regard,  and  political  relation,  embodied  in  strong  and 
graceful  forms  of  feeling,  fancy,  or  thought,  and  arrayed  in  the 
dazzle  of  a  language  full  of  sensibility,  surprisingly  suggestive, 
and  capable  of  accomplishing,  by  a  kind  of  elegant  indirectness, 
effects  almost  as  exquisite  as  the  arrowy  certainty  of  Grecian 
phrases — he  will  find  them  in  their  best  loveliness  in  Latin 
poetry.  In  dealing  with  this  moral  species  of  art,  the  test  of 
artistic  merit  is  the  degree  in  which  the  work  proceeds  from  the 
moral  sentiments  and  instincts,  and  not  from  the  dry  analysis  of 
a  moral  ratiocination :  and  under  this  view,  the  Latin  bards  are 
genuine  poets.  Their  craft  is  as  truly  art  as  Grecian  is,  and  their 
mastery  of  it  not  inferior  :  but  the  more  vital  clay  with  which 
they  wrought  was  incapable  of  those  firm,  cold,  glittering  forms 
which  shine  forever  in  the  Parian  stone. 

Idolatry  of  the  classics  is  part  of  the  religion  of  a  gentleman : 
and,  bred  as  I  have  been  from  my  father's  arms,  into  the  most 
intimate  familiarity  with  Grecian  letters,  and  beholden  to  them 
inexpressibly  for  comfort  and  joy  among  a  thousand  troubles, 
and  almost  for  sanity  amidst  the  torrent  of  false  reason  and 
base  superstition  that  now  sweeps  over  the  world,  they  are  to 
me  at  once  a  passion  and  a  pride  :  they  are  a  refuge  from  care, 
from  fear,  ft  om  solitude,  from  remorse  ;  I  turn  to  them  with  the 
same  confidence  and  affection  with  which  one  seeks  his  home 
and  fireside  j  and  I  feel  an  assault  upon  their  supremacy  as  a 


.  27.]      MONOLOGUES  AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS.  429 

wrong  done  to  myself.  And  yet — reluctantly — against  my  will — 
in  spite  of  earnest  endeavor — I  am  overborne  by  the  despotizing 
might  of  Jewish  inspirations,  and  am  compelled  to  admit  that 
Israel  is  greater  than  Greece.  Bowed  down  and  driven  away 
from  the  darlings  of  heathen  witchery,  by  an  irresistible  sym 
pathy,  I  recognize  at  last  that  there  is  in  art  something  yet  higher 
than  Beauty,  and  that  there  may  be  a  power  in  Spirit  above  the 
fascinations  of  Form.  And  whence  is  this  superior  vigor — this 
amazing  vehemence  and  vitality  of  Jewish  art — this  fervor  of 
enthusiasm,  whose  words  are  weapons,  whose  cadences  are  like 
the  thick  drivings  of  the  tempest  ?  It  is  because  the  spiritual 
instincts  and  sensibilities,  of  which  Hebrew  poetry  is  the  bold, 
imperious  utterance,  are  yet  deeper,  more  impetuous  and  absolute 
than  either  of  the  other  kinds ;  as  the  experience  of  the  world 
attests.  The  spiritual,  the  natural,  the  moral — such  is  the  suc 
cessive  development  in  the  history  of  the  individual,  and  such  is 
the  order  in  which  the  several  civilities  of  Judea,  Greece  and 
Rome  have  evolved  themselves :  that  is  the  sequence  as  you 
pass  forward  from  the  merely  affective  to  the  intellectual  organs, 
and  that  is  the  gradation  in  the  degrees  of  force  and  substanti 
ality  exhibited  by  these  respective  schools  of  art.  Fit  to  be  the 
winged  messenger  of  that  tremendous  law  which  was  born  amidst 
thunderings  and  lightnings — whose  fearful  courts  are  held  in  the 
shadowy  sanctuaries  of  the  soul,  and  the  ministers  of  whose 
judgment  are  Frenzy,  and  Horror,  and  Self-damnation — it  flies 
forth  in  the  solemnity  of  a  delegated  Omnipotence  :  by  the  force 
of  its  sincerity,  extravagance  becomes  venerable  and  absurdity 
august.  Hebrew  literature  is  the  fresh,  morning  effort  of  that 
deity  in  man  whose  calmer  work  is  Grecian  art,  and  whose  later 
toil  is  Roman.  It  is  the  native  residence  of  the  sublime.  Grecian 
sentiment,  never  soaring  without  the  jealous  accompaniment  of 
Grecian  intellect,  could  never  reach  Sublimity,  but,  like  Aurora 
in  pursuit  of  Night,  still  drove  the  dusky  fugitive  before  it.  Of 
range  unlimited — defiant  of  the  graceful  shackles  of  Greek 
decorum — flashing  like  the  lightning  from  pole  to  pole  in  wan 
tonness  of  might  and  freedom,  it  sounds  with  equal  energy  the 
highest  and  the  lowest  notes  of  mortal  consciousness ;  from  the 


430  MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.  [^TAT.  27. 


physical  sympathies  of  the  mere  animal  who  warmeth  himself 
and  crieth  "Ha,  ha!  I  am  warm!"  to  the  infinite  delicacy  of 
spiritual  being  which  to  an  Idea  says,  "  Thou  art  a  place  to  hide 
me  in."  It  gives  vitality  to  matter,  and  form  and  action  to  the 
subtlest  phenomena  of  mind  and  soul.  In  its  harmonies  Ocean 
claps  its  hands,  and  corn-fields  laugh  and  sing.  Among  all  the 
deep  minds  of  Greece  there  is  none  that  may  be  measured  with 
the  unfathomed  soul  of  David.  The  storms  of  the  Andes  have 
no  tones  more  terrible  —  the  melodies  of  the  summer  winds  among 
groves  of  myrtle  and  orange  are  not  more  ravishing  —  than  those 
that  mingle  in  the  bursts  of  his  lyre.  From  the  recesses  of  his 
spirit,  there  seems  to  surge  forth  a  stream  which  is  but  the  tiding 
overflow  of  the  sea  of  Heaven.  With  the  roar  of  a  coming  de 
luge,  headlong  it  rushed  over  the  world  —  a  resistless  stream  of 
Light,  and  Power,  and  Glory  —  absorbing  the  confluent  courses 
of  Greek  intelligence  and  Roman  morals.  It  rolled  on  in  unre- 
sisted  conquest,  till  it  met  the  great  refluent  wave  of  Milton's 
soul,  which,  with  audacity  and  strength  divine,  forced  back  the 
gathered  torrent  even  till  the  returning  tide  echoed  against  the 
throne  of  God. 


No.  IV. 

THE  splendor  and  blaze  of  summer  are  in  the  sky !  Afar, 
and  faint,  her  yellow  banners  float,  flame-like,  through  the  blue 
ether :  nearer,  the  air,  thrilled  into  voice  by  the  warm  touches 
of  the  light,  gives  forth  her  iris-like  melodies  in  breezy  sighs 
of  pleasure  :  while  around  and  beneath,  upon  an  hundred  hills, 
the  thick  forests  stand,  like  emerald  cressets  streaming  towards 
the  Heavens.  It  is  the  passioning  of  Nature.  Wild,  fervid, 
fiercely-voluptuous,  as  youth's  first,  full  embrace  with  guilt, — 
the  spirits  of  Earth  and  Sky  glow  together  into  an  union,  in 
tense  as  fire  and  glorious  as  Sin.  We  dwell  to-day  beneath 
the  tyranny  of  Light,  and  in  the  very  porches  of  the  Sun.  The 
lustre  is  vehement,  almost  to  gloom.  Swelling  in  crested 
strength. — travailing  with  conscious  boundlessness  of  Yigor, — 


.  27.]    MONOLOGUES  AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS.  431 

Existence  seems  about  to  be  self-born  into  some  higher  and  more 
emphatic  type  of  being.  In  earlier  days,  this  was  the  season 
of  my  deepest  joys.  There  was  something  in  its  godless  glow 
that  fascinated  me.  The  Arab-soul  of  youth, — half-savage  in 
its  love  of  freedom, — craving  sensation, — struck  and  enchanted 
by  Power, — revelled  in  the  raging  of  the  Summer's  ray.  Lover 
and  worshipper  of  the  Sun,  the  sting  of  his  heat  smote  strength 
into  my  frame ;  I  exulted  in  the  dazzling  deluge  of  his  beams. 
Through  the  madness  of  the  mortal  energies,  the  sympathies  of 
the  deep  soul  were  reached  and  roused.  But  that  delight  is  over  ; 
the  might  of  spirit  whence  it  was  engendered  has  been  struck 
forever.  And  I  regret  not  their  [MS.  wanting.]  Rather,  I 
say  in  daily  thanksgiving,  Blessed  be  God  for  the  infirmity  of 
our  Nature.  Betrayed  by  Strength,  and  ruined  by  Joy,  redemp 
tion  cometh  to  us  at  last  through  our  weakness  and  sufferings. 
It  is  that  lingering  residue  of  distress  and  cowardice,  which  still 
will  haunt  our  hours  of  Pride,  and  soil  our  brightest  raptures, 
that  becomes  our  strength  and  salvation.  That  is  the  con 
sciousness  of  our  Immortality,  which,  reproducing  itself  within 
our  finite  life,  compels  our  inverted  being  to  right  itself,  through 
madness  and  misery.  In  worldly  schemes  and  action,  we  mistake 
our  nature,  and  perplex  our  fate  :  for  we  have  inherited  a  portion 
of  that  high  angel  essence,  whose  greatness  is  in  humility,  whose 
only  comfort  is  in  the  consciousness  of  Duty  ;  whose  energy  is 
convulsed  by  selfishness  and  its  sight  extinguished  by  [MS. 
wanting.]  Our  shame  is  our  Dignity  ;  our  force  is  in  our  fears. 
It  is  our  failures  that  save  us.  For  myself,  desolate,  but  not  in 
despair  ;  I  send  on  high  the  earnest  breath  of  gratitude,  for  this 
chiefly  :  that  amidst  the  ecstasies  of  Sin,  I  never  could  escape 
the  exquisite  sense  of  its  degradation  ;  that,  sated  with  raptures, 
I  could  not  harden  myself  into  contentment :  but  that  the  living 
consciousness  of  a  better  destiny,  growing  more  intolerably  keen 
within  my  bosom  at  each  lower  step  in  the  descent,  whirled  me 
at  last  with  the  volcanic  strength  of  frenzy  into  the  regions  of 
an  exulting  penitence.  Wild  with  love  and  anguish,  mad  with 
enjoyment  and  remorse,  my  soul  tore  itself  away  from  the  warm 
oppressions  of  its  pleasures,  to  tell  its  misery  to  the  mountains 


432  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  [JETAT.  27. 

and  the  silent  skies,  to  the  lonely  forests  and  the  stars  of  Night. 
Nature  is  still,  as  she  ever  was,  my  refuge,  my  restorer  and  sup 
port  :  but  it  is  her  sterner,  chaster  aspects  that  I  now  take  [MS. 
wanting]  in, — her  ruder  lineaments,  her  suffering  moods, — 
those  rigorous  scenes  and  times,  that,  repelling  sense,  urge  forth 
the  Spirit.  Alone  and  thoughtful, — with  regrets  to  urge  and 
hopes  to  guide  me  upwards,' — I  dwell  amongst  the  grandeur  of 
the  hills,. — the  varying  clouds  for  Memory  and  the  changeless  sky 
for  Faith,. — sending  on  high  the  eternal  aspiration  after  good ; — 
my  feelings  my  only  friends,  the  higher  sorts  of  poetry,  my 
companion  and  teacher. — But  we  forget  our  purpose,  amid  these 
reveries.  Our  business  is  with  criticism.  Having  distinguished 
the  kinds  of  ancient  Art,  let  us  sketch  the  outline  of  its  cha 
racter  as  displayed  in  modern  Europe. 

Civility,  as  I  have  said,  consists  in  the  development  of  the 
sentiments  :  if  you  compare  a  savage  with  a  civilized  person, 
you  will  see  that  the  difference  between  them  lies  not  in  the 
passions,  which  are  quite  the  same  in  both,  nor  in  the  mere  in 
tellect,  which  may  be  more  piercing  in  the  savage,. — but  in  the 
sentiments,  which  are  the  offspring  of  their  combination.  Jew 
ish,  Greek,  and  Roman  society  exhibit  three  several  kinds  of 
civility,  each  of  them  partial ;  one,  spiritual,  another  a3sthetic, 
and  the  third,  moral.  To  bring  them  into  union, — to  lead  forth 
a  family  of  nations  in  which  all  these  elements  should  be  com 
bined  in  one  grand  and  harmonious  civility,  was  the  problem 
which  Nature  proposed  to  herself  in  modern  history.  During 
the  fourteen  first  centuries  of  our  era,  the  object  of  her  efforts  was 
the  moral  and  spiritual  education  of  a  race  of  glorious  barbarians  ; 
and  the  machines  by  which  it  was  accomplished,  were  the  feudal 
Law-system,  and  the  Church.  Those  who  correctly  appreciate 
the  effective  purpose  of  those  two  great  institutions,  can  never 
cease  to  admire  the  wisdom  which  their  organization  exhibits, 
and  the  priceless  excellence  of  their  beneficent  results.  Being 
designed  to  operate  upon  a  human  nature  grossly  full  of  vices 
and  defects,  they  were  of  course  adapted  to  it ;  and  some  have 
erringly  supposed  them  to  have  been  the  causes  of  faults  which 
they  harmonized  with,  only  that  they  might  remove  them. 


.  27.]      MONOLOGUES  AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS.  433 

Others  have  misapprehended  the  value  of  these  systems,  because 
they  have  looked  for  intellectual  results  from  schemes  designed 
to  produce  only  spiritual  and  moral  ones.  That  deep  and,  as  it 
now  seems,  ineradicable  moral  intelligence  and  spiritual  con 
sciousness,  which  give  character  to  modem  Europe,  are  noth 
ing  else  than  the  effect  of  ages  of  discipline  by  the  feudal 
and  Catholic  systems :  they  are  now  the  birth-right,  and  spon 
taneous  faculties,  of  every  individual ;  but  he  who  imagines  that 
these  perceptions  and  feelings  are  strictly  natural  in  man,  for 
gets  that  Greece  had  no  spirituality,  and  that  Judea  possessed 
scarcely  more  of  that  social  and  moral  instinct  or  sagacity, 
which  all  Europeans  now  are  born  with.  When  these  two 
great  systems  had  done  their  work  of  educating  the  race  into  an 
enlightenment  beyond  their  own  measure,  and  had  thus  become 
useless  and  contemptible  to  man,  they  gave  way,  and  perished 
with  different  degrees  of  suddenness  in  different  nations  ;  and 
the  intellectual  or  scientific  faculties,  covering  the  aesthetic 
energies  in  their  sortie,  rose  forth  upon  the  world,  like  a  new 
dawn  upon  the  full  day.  Bacon  and  Shakspeare  were  contem 
poraries, — the  Sun  of  science  which  lightens  all  the  world, — the 
Sirius  of  poetry,  around  whom  all  the  stars  of  Art  revolve. 
Galileo  and  Dante,  Yico  and  Milton,  flourished  at  the  same 
time.  Since  that  epoch,  the  task  which  society  had  been  en 
gaged  in,  is  the  intellectual  civility  of  men. 

The  characteristics  of  Jewish,  Greek,  and  Latin  art,  are  each 
single  and  uniform :  the  peculiarity  of  modern  Art  is,  that  all 
these  are  blended  together  and  interfused,  like  the  gorgeous 
colorings  of  a  forest  in  autumn.  In  English  poetry,  what  rich 
varieties  of  form,  what  infinite  diversities  of  effect  1  There  is 
Chaucer,  who  is  a  Greek  poet :  and  Milton,  who  is  a  Hebrew 
poet :  and  Pope,  who  is  a  Latin  poet :  and  Shakspeare,  who  is 
a  World  poet. 

It  is  impossible  to  make  any  progress  in  the  philosophy  of 
aesthetical  criticism,  without  recognizing  that  there  are  these  three 
distinct  kinds  of  Art,  founded  in  distinctions  inherent  in  the 
nature  of  man,  and  illustrated  historically  by  the  three  great 
nations  of  antiquity  to  which  we  have  referred.  They  may 
37 


434  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  [^)TAT.  27. 

differ  in  the  degrees  of  their  power  and  beauty ;  but  one  is  as 
genuine  as  another.  It  may  well  happen  that  a  man,  by  reason 
of  the  predominance  of  one  set  of  sentiments  in  his  nature,  is 
fitted  to  sympathize  with  one  of  these  kinds  of  poetry,  to  the 
exclusion  of  the  others ;  but  if  he  cannot  enjoy  the  rest,  he 
should  at  least  endeavor  to  appreciate  them,  for  the  limits  of 
one's  taste  ought  not  to  be  made  the  measure  of  one's  judg 
ments.  If  we  group  the  English  poets  according  to  an  histo 
rical  law,  we  shall  find,  perhaps, — though,  of  course,  in  a  very 
general  way,  and  liable  to  disturbance  by  very  slight  causes, — 
that  the  earliest  English  poets  are  of  a  Heathen  or  Greek  family 
of  art ;  the  middle  ones  of  a  moral  cast ;  that  the  spiritual  predo 
minates  in  those  most  eminent  in  our  own  day.  Now,  critics, 
who  are  familiar  chiefly  with  these  more  recent  models,  and  have 
schooled  their  taste  and  informed  their  understanding  by  their 
examples,  fall  into  the  error  of  imagining  that  the  spiritual  con 
sciousness  is  the  very  faculty  of  poetry,  and  that  the  mystery 
and  power  of  art  can  consist  in  nothing  else  ;  forgetting  that 
there  are  three  Graces,  and  that  though  we  may  love  one,  we 
should  be  wise  enough  not  to  deny  the  others.  It  is  thus  that 
there  has  been  constructed  a  school  of  criticism,  very  limitary 
and  insular  in  its  sympathies,  and,  on  that  account,  morbid  in  its 
tastes ;  a  school  whose  canons  would,  on  the  one  hand,  consign 
Homer  himself  to  neglect,  and  set  Euripides  above  JBschylus ; 
and  on  the  other,  push  Horace  and  Yirgil  quite  out  of  the  line 
of  poets.  All  these  narrownesses  are  very  unphilosophical  : 
Wordsworth  is  undoubtedly  a  poet ;  but  it  does  not  follow  that 
Campbell  is  not  as  great  a  one  ;  and  Pope  greater  than  either. 
The  summit  of  Ida  is  triple. 

In  passing  the  great  poets  of  England  in  hasty  review,  we 
shall  distribute  them  according  to  the  three  several  styles  which 
we  have  recognized,  though  of  course  that  classification  is  ex 
tremely  far  from  rigorous ;  indicating  only  that  the  Greek,  the 
Roman  or  the  Jewish  spirit  predominates,  not  that  it  is  exclu 
sive.  But  first  we  should  speak  of  two  who  certainly  cannot  be 
referred  to  one  class  more  than  to  another  ;  one  of  them  belong 
ing  equally  to  all,  the  other  being  different  from  any ;  I  mean 


.   27.]      MONOLOGUES  AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS.  435 

Shakspeare  and  Spenser.  Shakspeare  is,  I  grant,  "  the  divine, 
the  matchless,  what  you  will  :"  yet  Spenser  is  that  poet,  of  all 
modern  times,  in  whom  the  spiritual,  the  moral,  and  the  natural, 
combine  in  the  most  exquisite  justness  of  proportion,  and  result 
in  an  absolute  unity  of  effect;  composing  one  divine  faculty, 
constituted  of  three,  yet  distinct  and  entire.  In  Shakspeare, 
these  three  join,  but  do  not  unite.  He  is  not  a  triple  one,  he  is 
three.  In  his  plays,  three  separate  intelligences  seem  to  execute 
different  parts  of  the  work ;  sometimes,  it  must  be  admitted, 
in  a  diversity  of  manner  not  very  promotive  of  the  harmony  of 
art.  In  one  scene,  I  behold  before  me  the  re-arisen  spirit  of 
the  most  wonderful,  the  most  delightful  of  the  Grecian  drama 
tists, — Aristophanes ;  in  other  parts,  I  listen  to  a  mind  in 
structed  in  all  the  lore  of  Cicero  and  breathing  all  the  dignity 
of  Cato  :  while  beneath  and  beyond  both  of  these,  there  are 
sometimes  gleams  and  sometimes  lightnings  of  that  lurid  fire 
of  the  infinite,  under-lying  life,  and  disturbing  it  now  with  un 
easy  tremblings,  and  now  with  volcanic  overthrow :  but  so  se 
parated,  and  even  discordant,  in  their  characteristics,  are  these 
three  creative  emanations,  that  I  lose  the  sense  of  the  identity 
of  their  origin.  His  genius  was  boundless  in  comprehension, 
but  it  was  not  homogeneous,  and  it  was  not  proportioned. 
Spenser, — expansive  yet  harmonious  as  the  spheres, — gracefully 
uuiform  amidst  limitless  extension,. — rich  as  autumn  and  freshly 
various  as  the  spring, — is  the  faultless  exemplar  of  Gothic  art. 

First  and  greatest  of  the  bright-eyed  band  that  wear  the 
golden  grasshopper  in  the  bonnet,  is  cheerful  old  Chaucer.  To 
no  poet  in  the  world,  may  he  be  named  as  second.,  GeniaT,  exu 
berant  and  changeful, — like  the  abounding  Dawn,  his  spirit  dif 
fused  itself  over  existence,  coloring  nature  into  fresh,  peculiar 
splendor,  and  waking  life  to  animation  and  delight.  Possest  of 
a  quick,  true  eye  for  the  picturesque,  both  in  scenery  and  in  so 
ciety,  which  he  reproduces  in  his  verse,  not  by  sketching  im 
pressions,  or  indicating  general  effects,  but  by  means  of  parti 
cular  traits,  caught  through  minute  observation,  and  conveyed 
in  language,  precise,  simple  and  lustrous  :  instinct  with  that 
true  poet-spirit,  which,  instant  to  seize  and  faithful  to  record 


436  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  [JETAT.  27. 

every  suggestion  of  the  infinite  which  the  mortal  teems  with, 
sees  in  the  actual  the  best  materials  of  the  ideal :  full  of  that 
efflorescent  energy  of  Fancy  which  causes  every  seed  of  thought 
and  observation  which  falls  within  it  to  bloom  into  vital  beauty, 
• — that  artless  propriety  of  sentiment  "  qui  ne  sait  ce  qu'ellefait, 
et  fait  tout  avec  grace,  qui  ne  sait  ce  qu'elle  dit,  et  dit  tout 
avec  esprit" — of  that  classic  restrained  vigor,  that  is  at  once 
voluptuous  and  pure :  brilliant  yet  delicate  in  his  tints,  exact 
but  free  in  his  touches,  natural  but  exquisitely  finished  in  man 
ner,  concise  but  easy  in  expression  :  flowing  forth  in  strains  of 
melody,  free,  rich,  and  ceaseless  as  a  summer  brook,  which  no 
familiarity  can  render  tiresome,  and  no  perversity  make  discord 
ant.  Fashioning  his  work  with  a  severe  correctness,  and  then 
shedding  over  it  those  alchymic  hues  of  pleasure  which  turn  all 
things  to  golden  grace,  this  enchanting  minstrel  presents  us 
with  images  at  once  accurate  and  glorious,  and  processes  at  the 
same  time  logical  and  delightful,. — the  elements  of  Truth  under 
the  outlines  of  Beauty.  Never  was  Art  made  more  delicious. 
Able  to  embody  the  most  profound  moral  conceptions  in  ima 
ginative  forms  of  surpassing  grandeur,  force  and  terror,  yet 
liking  to  enjoy  more  than  to  create ;  teeming  with  invention, 
and  yet  preferring  to  observe  rather  than  contrive ;  his  greatest 
enterprises  of  strength  are  accomplished  without  effort,  and  his 
longest  excursions  wear  no  appearances  of  fatigue.  His  sym 
pathy  with  humanity  is  as  widely-ranging  and  as  fine  as  his  love 
of  nature  is  eager  and  joyous  :  easily  capable  of  constructing 
brilliant  air-palaces  of  the  purest  Fancy,  as  in  that  immortal 
fragment  of  Kambus-Khan,  which  of  all  Chaucer's  productions 
seems  to  have  left  the  strongest  impression  upon  Milton's  feel 
ings,  he  seems  always  to  feel  that  the  rightful  dwelling-place 
and  employment  of  his  thoughts,  was  amid  objects  and  social 
interests :  specially  master  of  the  pathetic,  and  knowing  his 
mastery,  yet  never  displaying  his  power  at  the  expense  of  his 
art,  not  pressing  sympathy  into  pain,  but  thoughtful  and  digni 
fied  even  amidst  the  impetuosities  of  feeling,  operating  not  by  a 
blind  aggregation  of  emotions,  but  by  distinct  and  well-analyzed 
strokes,  to  which  a  craving  sensibility  could  add  little  and  an 


.  27.]      MONOLOGUES  AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS.  437 

exacting  taste  object  nothing,  exhibiting  the  reserved,  sup 
pressed  intensity  of  Euripides,  and  not  that  wild  and  morbid 
abandonment  to  distress  into  which  Virgil  and  Catullus  fell 
when  they  sought  to  emulate  the  energy  and  earnestness  of  Ion 
ian  passion  :  a  perfect  artist,  not  Gothic,  to  sublimate  reality 
away  into  the  indistinctness  of  the  heavens,  but  Greek,  to  bring 
down  the  golden  atmosphere  of  the  skies  to  shed  magic  radiance 
around  the  familiar  and  the  near  :  seemingly  discursive  but  really 
direct :  the  last  inheritor  of  that  Homeric  secret  of  elevating 
without  distorting,  and  transfiguring  without  change. 

[The  rest  of  these  MSS.,  which  were  several  in  number,  are 
lost :  what  follows  is  a  mere  lead-pencil  fragment,  but  belonging 
apparently  to  the  same  subject,  is  here  added.] 

Pope  for  the  moral  poets :  eulogize  him  as  working  with 
moral  sentiments,  and  even  in  Abelard  to  Eloise  moral  pas 
sions  :  not  trains  of  ratiocination ;  not  metaphysical :  Jeffrey 
and  Alison.  We  might  name  Wordsworth  as  the  person  in 
whom  the  spiritual  develops  itself  more  exclusively  than  in  any 
other  poet :  he  has  little  of  moral  sentiment  as  distinguished 
from  spiritual,  and  mere  natural  sympathy — the  [MS.  wanting]... 
in  him,  though  delicate  and  true,  is  feeble.  Of  the  capacity  of 
the  spiritual  to  constitute  a  great  and  powerful  poetry,  no  man 
that  has  read  the  Psalms  of  David  can  entertain  any  doubt ;  yet 
Wordsworth,  I  think,  falls  far  short  of  being  a  great  poet.  The 
intellectual  predominates  far  too  excessively,  and  physical  emo 
tion  is  far  too  weak  in  his  mental  constitution  to  give  him  that 
mastery  of  human  sympathies  which  is  the  wand  of  the  poet. 
Exquisite  in  apprehension,  subtle  in  discrimination,  the  pure 
stream  of  refined  emotion  winds  around  the  forms  of  nature  and 
the  exterior  of  life  :  its  passages  are  not  forced  through  by  its 
own  resistless  violence,  but  are  opened  before  it  by  the  antece 
dent  analysis  of  the  intellect.  If  any  man  would  know  the 
difference  between  a  speculation  and  a  creation — between  a 
thought  and  a  thing — let  him  pass  from  the  rarified  and  fatigu 
ing  tenuity  of  the  Excursion  to  the  [MS.  wanting.]  The  metal 
which  he  works  upon  is  the  genuine  stone  of  Ophir, — nay,  if 
you  please,  it  is  the  refined,  essential  gold  of  the  heavenly  throne  j 
37* 


438  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  [^TAT.  27. 

it  is  the  quantity  that  is  defective.  The  economy  of  the  poet  is 
truly  amazing  to  behold.  It  is  beaten  out  past  any  analogy 
with  the  leaf  of  the  gold-beater,  into  an  infinitesimal  degree  of 
fineness  :  when,  occasionally,  it  is  massed  into  a  point  of  visible 
magnitude,  that  point  is  as  bright  in  purity  of  essential  lustre  as 
the  very  lamps  of  the  sky.  His  organization  is  defective  in 
tone, — in  capacity  to  re-act  with  vigor  and  effect  on  the  objects 
of  its  apprehension — in  that  muscular  energy  and  force  which 
moulds  and  masters  and  gives  form.  When  he  approaches  a 
great  subject,  instead  of  being  fired  and  raised  and  maddened 
by  it,  he  is  paralyzed,  and  his  faculties  are  thrown  into  a  state 
of  mere  collapse.  He  possesses  a  fancy  susceptible  of  the  forms 
of  grand  and  lovely  images ;  it  is  the  force  of  creative  energy 
that  is  so  marvellously  lacking.  His  Greek  odes — as  Dion, 
Laodamia — are  cast  in  the  genuine  mould  of  Euripides  :  but 
they  are  the  hollow  shells  of  exquisite  sculpture  not  solid 
masses  of  [MS.  wanting.] 


DRAMATIC     CRITICISMS. 


MR.  MACREADY. 

THAT  portion  of  the  community  to  whose  cares,  or  whose 
more  fatiguing  want  of  them,  the  drama  is  wont  to  prove  a 
nightly  solace,  will  be  gratified  by  the  intelligence,  now  rendered 
certain,  of  Mr.  Macready's  appearance  in  this  country  early  in  the 
coming  autumn.  His  reception,  we  well  know,  will  be  cordial 
and  cheering.  By  the  delicacy  of  his  social  deportment — by  the 
dignity  of  his  public  aims,  and  the  studious  ability  with  which 
he  has  devoted  himself  to  the  life-long  labor  of  realizing  the 
loftiest  conception  of  a  dramatic  career,  he  has  secured  a  more 
honorable  place  in  the  confidence  of  the  best  classes  of  our  com 
munity — the  educated,  the  reflective,  the  refined — than  any 
foreign  performer  who  has  ever  come  among  us.  These  persons 
are  happy  to  hail  his  arrival,  as  a  gentleman  who  brings  to 
private  intercourse  the  most  select  contributions  of  taste  and 
scholarship,  and  as  an  artist  who  displays  on  the  scene  of  his 
peculiar  distinction,  an  intellectual  capacity  which  elevates  him 
to  the  level  of  the  great  philosophical  critics  and  analysts  of 
Shakspearian  life.  While  he  has  raised  himself  to  an  enviable 
respectability  by  the  decorum  of  his  personal  demeanor,  he  has 
raised  his  profession  in  the  scale  of  mental  consideration  by  the 
superiority  of  thoughtful  power  which  he  brings  to  bear  upon  its 
most  exalted  difficulties.  The  present  impression  produced  by 
other  actors — we  allude  only  to  the  very  first  order  of  them — 
may  perhaps  have  been  more  intense  ;  the  sympathy  of  the  pas 
sions  under  Kean  or  Cooke  may  have  been  more  vivid  and  ab- 

(439) 


440  DRAMATIC  CRITICISMS.  [^ETAT.  29. 


sorbing  ;  but  we  have  met  with  no  player  upon  whose  exhibitions 
we  reflect  with  deeper  rational  interest  and  satisfaction  than  Mr. 
Macready.  We  viewed  them  with  a  confused  and  indistinct 
tumult  of  emotions  which  subsided  when  the  occasion  had  past, 
and  left  nothing  behind  it  but  the  memory  of  a  physical  excite 
ment.  We  recall  his  great  illustrations  as  having  been  the 
means  of  giving  us  a  grander  impression  even  of  the  genius  of 
Shakspeare  himself  —  as  having  been  memorable  revelations  of 
the  mind  of  the  immortal  contriver  of  characters  which  Nature 
might  mistake  for  her  own  noblest  creations  —  as  being  gilded 
with  some  rays  of  that  admiration  which  glitters  forever  around 
the  bard  whom  he  interprets.  It  is  in  his  relation  to  these  vast 
and  weighty  monuments  of  histrionic  fame  —  the  tragedies  of 
Shakspeare  —  that  we  consider  Mr.  Macready's  name  as  specially 
distinguished  ;  and  we  hope  that  it  is  this  matchless  scene  that 
will  be  illuminated  by  the  last  splendors  of  his  art  that  go  forth 
upon  American  soil.  We  would  suggest  to  him,  as  a  thing 
woithy  of  his  own  position  and  eminently  grateful  to  his  friends, 
that  he  should  give  in  each  great  city  of  the  Union  a  complete 
series  of  his  Shaksperian  personations,  in  regular  sequence.  Let 
him  close  his  engagement  in  America  by  that  full  diapason  of 
professional  display. 

From  the  time  that  we  first  grew  acquainted  with  the  merits 
of  this  profound  illustrator  of  the  drama,  we  have  cherished  his 
reputation  with  something  of  enthusiasm.  We  have  read,  since 
then,  many  depreciating  criticisms  —  many  effusions  of  faint  and 
partial  praise  ;  but  our  conviction  of  the  justice  of  our  own 
earliest  impressions,  and  of  the  genuine  worth  of  the  subject  of 
them,  has  remained  unshaken.  The  vivid  effects  of  the  scenes, 
under  his  control,  we  are  told,  are  but  an  elaborate  and  compli 
cated  mechanism  ;  all  is  fore-planned  and  settled  with  minute 
and  measured  particularity  ;  what  seems  the  rapid  improvisation 
of  passion,  is  the  deliberate  result  of  calculation  and  arrange 
ment.  So  be  it  :  but  what,  then,  shall  we  think  of  the  capacities 
which  contrive,  combine  and  manage  this  intricate  system  of  dis 
play  ?  How  can  we  sufficiently  admire  the  invention  which  con 
ceives,  the  vigor  which  executes,  and  the  taste  which  controls 


,£TAT.  29.]  MR.  MACREADY.  441 

these  alleged  dynamics  of  the  drama  ?  Admit  that  the  result 
attained  by  Mr.  Macready  is  as  effective  as  that  reached  by  artists 
of  less  laborious  skill — a  position  which  we  cannot  allow  to  be 
at  all  questionable — is  it  not  obvious  that  the  methods  ascribed 
to  the  former  as  the  means  of  his  success  imply  far  more  than 
all  the  abilities  which  are  possessed  by  the  others  ? — as  much 
genius  and  a  greater  measure  of  discipline  and  accomplishments  ? 
The  imaginative  sensibility  which,  in  the  quietness  of  the  re 
hearsal,  apprehends  the  impressions  which  are  to  be  worked  out 
with  careful  exactness  in  the  exhibition,  is  surely  the  same  with 
that  which  moves  the  performer  whose  action  is  spontaneous  in 
the  presence  of  the  audience.  In  addition  to  all  this,  the  sus 
tained  strength  which  carries  out,  through  a  series  of  arrange 
ments,  all  the  spirit  of  the  first  conception  ;  the  tact,  the  judg 
ment,  the  delicacy  of  execution  which  must  preside  over  the 
whole  ;  the  energy  which,  in  the  final  moment  of  delivery,  must 
vivify  the  performance  with  the  freshness  of  an  impulsive  move 
ment  ;  all  these  call  for  new  admiration  and  distinct  honors.  Is 
there  not  as  much  inspired  invention  in  the  complex  construction 
of  a  piece  of  clockwork  as  is  displayed  by  him  who,  by  a  glance 
at  the  sun,  or  a  felicitous  guess  from  the  shadows,  tells  you  the 
hour  of  the  day  ?  If  the  elaboration  imputed  to  Mr.  Macready 
be  really  undergone  by  him,  it  only  proves  that  he  is  a  man  of 
consummate  genius,  who  preestablishes  such  a  system  of  ope 
rations  that  the  conceptions  of  his  genius  cannot  fail  to  take 
effect  with  exact  and  absolute  precision.  In  truth,  the  habits 
alleged  as  a  derogation  from  the  fame  of  this  great  tragedian, 
would  be  quite  indispensable  to  make  out  the  highest  titles  to 
it.  Wherever  we  can  penetrate  into  the  interior  system  of  men 
of  the  first  greatness  in  any  department,  we  find  that  the  anxious 
employment  of  instruments  and  aids  of  success  is  not  less  striking 
than  the  richness  of  those  native  resources  that  might  well  seem 
able  to  do  without  them.  It  is  a  secondary  ambition  which  is 
content  to  rely  upon  the  unassisted  suggestions  of  the  mind  or 
feelings.  Napoleon  was  accustomed  to  make  the  most  copious 
and  thorough  preparations  for  his  enterprises ;  he  provided  for 
every  possible  want ;  he  anticipated  every  rational  contingency ; 


442  DRAMATIC  CRITICISMS.  (yErAT.  30. 

and  when  success  had  thus  been  reduced  to  demonstration  and 
victory  rendered  a  logical  necessity,  he  talked  about  his  destiny, 
and  bade  men  marvel  at  the  might  of  his  genius. 

After  all,  the  merit  of  an  artist  of  any  kind,  is  to  be  judged 
by  the  excellence  of  the  final  result  which  he  accomplishes ;  and 
certainly  no  personation,  that  we  have  witnessed,  informs  the  great 
drama  of  Shakspeare  with  a  nobler  life,  or  makes  its  colossal  cha 
racters  flash  forth  a  higher  and  truer  splendor  of  moral  revela 
tion,  than  the  histrionic  efforts  of  Mr.  Macready.  He  does  not 
possess  the  fascinations  of  countenance — the  witcheries  of  tone 
— the  graceful  charm  of  captivating  manner ;  he  may  not  enchant 
the  senses  by  qualities  half  physical  in  their  nature.  He  is  the 
actor  of  intellect.  He  plays  to  the  mind  of  the  spectator.  He 
begins  by  fixing  the  curiosity  of  the  understanding  keenly  upon 
the  inward  condition  of  the  character  he  is  dealing  with,  and 
then  leads  the  passions  on  in  unbreathing  suspense  through  a 
progression  of  scenic  power  in  which  the  acuteness  of  the  meta 
physician  subserves  the  brilliance  of  the  artist,  until  the  blaze  of 
the  denouement  flashes  back  over  the  whole  the  conviction  of 
reason  and  the  satisfaction  of  the  conscience.  We  have  seen  no 
artist  of  the  drama  who  infuses  into  his  exhibitions  such  poig 
nancy  of  mental  interest.  It  is  that  intimate  union  of  the  ra 
tional  with  the  sensuous  in  his  performance  that  gives  such  in 
tensity  of  gratification  to  the  most  reflective  among  his  auditors. 
He  holds  the  sympathy  of  the  lowest,  while  he  commands  and 
sways  the  admiring  respect  of  the  best  cultivated.  We  may 
witness  in  other  performers  occasional  displays  of  greater 
power — outbursts  of  startling  but  irregular  force — it  will  be 
long  ere  we  shall  behold,  in  any  one,  a  higher  tone  of  classic 
dignity,  a  more  continuous  grandeur  of  moral  impression,  than  is 
shown  in  the  best  personations  of  Mr.  Macready. 


MR.  MACREADY'S  MACBETH. 

IT  is  evident  that  a  deep  impression  has  been  produced  by 
the  Macbeth  of  Mr.  Macready,  and  that  the  interest  of  the 


30.]  MR.  MACKEADY.  443 

audience  has  been  powerfully  engaged ;  but  probably  most 
people  would  feel  themselves  somewhat  at  a  loss,  if  called  upon, 
to  say  seriously  what  has  been  the  cause  of  this  undefinable  de 
light,  and  wherein  lay  the  secret  of  this  fascination. 

When  we  first  saw  this  great  actor,  during  the  two  first  acts, 
we  did  not  know  exactly  what  to  think  of  him ;  we  could  not 
make  up  our  mind.  It  was  obvious,  that  here  was  a  scheme 
and  style  of  acting  essentially  different  from  any  thing  we  had 
seen  before.  The  actor  was  very  clearly  contemplating  a  differ 
ent  purpose  from  other  actors,  and  employing  different  means 
thereto  ;  but  what  his  system  was,  and  how  his  excellence  should 
be  characterized,  was  something  of  a  puzzle.  As  the  piece 
went  on,  the  prospect  cleared,  and  we  left  the  house  at  the  end 
of  the  play,  with  the  consciousness  of  having  been  as  strangely 
affected,  and  as  intensely  delighted  as  we  had  ever  been  in  our 
lives. 

That  which  we  had  in  our  mind,  throughout,  as  the  key  to 
Mr.  Macready's  design,  was  Charles  Lamb's  essay  "  On  the 
Tragedies  of  Shakspeare,  considered  with  reference  to  their 
fitness  for  stage  representation."  In  that  paper,  the  acutest 
critic  of  our  times  ventures  upon  saying,  that  Shakspeare's  plays 
are  those  which,  of  all  others,  are  the  least  fitted  for  perform 
ance,  because  the  chief  interest  of  Shakspeare's  persons  lies  in 
the  mind,  and  the  workings  of  the  mind  of  those  persons; 
whereas,  what  we  see  upon  the  stage,  is  body  and  bodily  action. 
That  which  Lamb  thus  considered  to  be  the  grand  peculiarity 
of  Shakspeare,  and  which  he  supposed  it  was  the  nature  of  act 
ing  to  leave  out,  it  has  been  Mr.  Macready's  purpose  to  seize 
upon  and  to  portray  ; — to  display  before  you  the  soul  and 
mind  of  the  person,  as  it  was  conceived  by  Shakspeare, — not 
simply  to  pronounce  each  speech  with  that  effectiveness  of  voice 
and  attitude  that  might  best  attend  those  words  considered  by 
themselves,  but  to  reveal  the  moral  clockwork  of  the  feelings 
which  resulted  in  striking  out  that  speech  from  the  depths  of 
the  speaker's  heart.  From  the  beginning,  it  was  the  individual, 
moral  nature  of  the  royal  homicide  which  was  bared  to  view, 
and  upon  which  our  attention  was  riveted,  and  to  trace  that 


444  DRAMATIC  CRITICISMS.  [^TAT.  30. 


moral  nature  through  all  its  changes  and  declension  —  to  follow 
it  through  all  the  complexity  of  the  passions  —  to  see  that  those 
lusts  of  the  mind  which  are  at  the  beginning  spirits  to  animate, 
are  afterward  furies  to  punish  —  to  mark  how  a  noble  nature  is 
first  convulsed  and  then  hardened  by  the  consciousness  of  guilt, 
-  —  this  lofty  and  profound  exhibition  it  was  which  fascinated 
our  attention  through  five  acts,  and  left  us,  at  last,  breathless 
with  interest.  Who  does  not  feel,  in  reading  Shakspeare,  that 
the  unwritten  part  of  the  character  is  a  vastly  larger  part  than 
the  written  ?  That  there  exist  between  the  speeches  vast  in 
tervals  of  passions,  which  nothing  but  Shakspeare's  own  genius 
could  entirely  fill  up,  and  that  only  in  folios  of  moral  metaphy 
sics  ?  It  is  this  unwritten  portion  of  the  character  which  Mr. 
Macready  give  us.  His  acting  fills  up  these  chasms,  and  is  the 
complement  of  the  worded  part  ;  he  not  merely  tells  us  what 
Macbeth  thought  when  he  spoke,  but  shows  us  all  he  felt  before 
he  spoke.  Other  actors  enact  the  character  by  reciting  the 
words.  Mr.  Macready  illustrates  the  words  by  displaying  the 
character.  They  start  from  the  language  that  is  set  down,  and 
work  inwards  to  the  character  as  far  as  they  can  ;  he  starts  from 
the  soul  of  the  person  he  is  representing,  and  works  outward  to 
the  language,  modifying  its  impression  by  a  knowledge  of  its 
cause.  If  you  would  know  what  such  or  such  words  mean, 
when  their  meaning  is  brought  out  in  the  most  effective  way 
possible,  these  actors  are  your  men.  If  you  would  learn  what 
Macbeth  meant  by  speaking  those  words,  and  why  he  spoke 
them,  Mr.  Macready  must  be  your  oracle.  They  detach  the 
speech  from  the  character  and  deliver  it  with  all  the  grace  and 
power  of  elocution  ;  they  are  orators  ;  attitudinizers.  Mr. 
Macready  is  nothing  of  these  —  he  is  nothing  but  Macbeth. 
Doubtless,  elocution  and  attitude  are  very  valuable  qualities, 
and  to  make  Macbeth  a  series  of  reading  lessons,  and  the  stage 
a  succession  of  tableaux  vivans,  is  a  very  fine  exhibition.  But 
it  is  not  enacting  the  character,  or,  if  it  be,  it  is  not  Mr.  Ma- 
cready's  method  of  acting  it  ;  and  without  suggesting  any  thing 
unfavorable  to  others,  we  take  leave  to  say  that  Mr.  Macready's 
method  is,  to  us,  a  very  agreeable  method.  We  take  leave  also 


2ETAT.  30.]  MR.  MACREADY.  445 

to  think,  that  Shakspeare's  dramas  are  those  which,  beyond  all 
others,  require  that  illustrative  and  supplementary  style  of  act 
ing  which  Mr.  Macready  employs :  not  that  Shakspeare's  per 
sonages  talk  less  than  those  of  other  dramatists,  but  that  they 
obviously  think  and  feel  a  great  deal  more.  We  are  willing  to 
admit,  that  if  Mr.  Macready  had  the  countenance  of  Conway, 
or  the  limbs  of  Hamblin,  he  would  have — something  which  he 
has  not  now.  He  does  not  command  the  senses  ;  he  does  not 
strike  and  overawe  the  fancy  by  the  flashes  of  imposing  form. 
He  addresses  the  imagination  and  intellect.  Let  the  reader  be 
pleased  to  turn  to  that  essay  of  Lamb's  which  we  have  referred 
to  above,  and  he  will  understand  what  we  mean  by  saying,  that 
to  witness  the  performance  of  this  great  actor  is,  to  us,  like 
reading  Shakspeare,  gifted,  for  the  nonce,  with  powers  of  per 
ception  to  see  all  that  Shakspeare  meant  but  has  not  expressed. 
This  profound  style  of  explication  is  very  exacting,  and  perhaps 
at  last  fatigues.  Perhaps,  too,  this  actor's  moral  analysis, 
always  subtle,  is  sometimes  morbid.  But  take  the  whole  to 
gether,  and  we  venture  to  utter  our  opinion :  that  the  tragedy 
of  Macbeth,  performed  by  Mr.  Macready,  is  the  highest  of  dra 
matic  enjoyments. 

The  character  of  Macbeth  is  a  great  psychological  study.  It 
appears  to  have  been  a  favorite  opinion  with  Shakspeare,  that 
evil  is  not  spontaneous  in  the  heart  of  man,  but  that  it  results 
from  good  qualities  acted  on  by  perverting  circumstances  ;  and 
that  that  sort  of  vice  which  is  active  and  ferocious,  is  commonly 
generated  of  feelings  too  intensely  sensitive  to  abide  the  whips 
and  stings  of  life,  which  at  length  torture  them  into  the  moral 
madness  of  wickedness.  It  may  be  said  that  the  heartless 
Richard,  "  born  with  teeth,"  does  not  bear  out  this  assertion  ; 
but  turn  to  that  astonishing  soliloquy  of  the  guilty  king,  when 
he  starts  from  his  dreadful  dream,  and  hear  the  sharpest  cry  of 
anguish  that  bursts  from  that  self-confessional — 

"There  is  no  creature  loves  me; 
And,  if  I  die,  no  soul  will  pity  me ! — ' 

This  volcano  of  the  soul  gives  us  to  see,  by  one  glimpse,  how 
38 


446  DRAMATIC  CRITICISMS.  [vEiAT.  30. 

the  ardors  of  love  once  burned  in  the  bosom  of  that  unhappy 
deformed  ;  and  that  the  thick  incrustation  of  hate,  which  had  so 
long  hardened  over  the  surface,  was  only  affection  chilled  into 
its  opposite  by  the  cold  scoffings  of  the  world.  But  in  Richard, 
this  hardening  process  was  complete  before  he  appears  upon  the 
stage — in  Macbeth  it  all  goes  forward  upon  the  scene.  Mr. 
Macready  enables  us  to  see,  in  this  character,  a  consistence  and 
unity  which  we  had  not  perceived  before,  and  we  shall  very 
briefly  give  the  view  of  this  character  which  we  understand  that 
gentleman  to  have  embodied. 

Macbeth  is  obviously  a  person  of  very  sensitive  feelings,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  of  highly  excitable  fancy.  We  may  remark, 
in  passing,  that  such  a  combination  must  often  produce  the  re 
sults  of  cowardice,  and  such  Macbeth  does  certainly  often  ex 
hibit.  When  he  first  appears  before  us,  his  breast  is  free  from 
sin.  His  imagination  is  soon  intensely  excited  by  the  vision 
opened  before  him  by  that  "supernatural  soliciting"  which 
"  cannot  be  ill ;"  and  the  first  scene  shows  us  how  unhappy  he 
was  made  by  the  struggle  between  ambition  and  virtue.  After 
wards,  reviewing  the  excellence  of  Duncan,  and  anxious  to 
cling  to  that  place  in  the  affections  of  his  fellows  which  he  had 
so  honorably  won  in  war,  he  resolves  to  abandon  all  thoughts  of 
the  murder.  But  it  is  his  fate  to  be  linked  to  a  woman  whose 
despotic  nature  and  commanding  intellect  give  her  a  natural 
ascendant  over  him.  She  reproaches  him  with  wavering,  with 
want  of  love,  with  abject  cowardice,  with  breach  of  his  oath. 
Too  feeble  in  mind  to  control  her,  and  too  susceptible  in  feeling 
to  be  insensible  to  these  sarcasms,  he  is  stung  and  maddened  by 
these  taunts,  and  his  nature  recovers,  by  an  enforced  cruelty  of 
heart,  that  place  in  its  own  self-esteem  which  the  vigor  of  the 
principles  could  not  vindicate.  But  it  is  all  effort : 

"  I  am  settled,  and  bend  up 
Each  corporal  agent  to  this  terrible  feat." 

The  act  being  done,  he  is  a  prey  to  all  the  anguish  of  re 
morse  ;  his  whole  being  is  convulsed  and  agonized.  But  mark 
what  justice  it  is  "the  self-condemned  deals  on  his  own  soul." 


.  30.]  MR.  MACREADY.  44^ 

Remorse  is  the  natural  pain  resulting  from  inconsistency  be 
tween  one's  principles  and  one's  acts.  If  the  acts  be  past  and 
irreparable,  this  inconsistency  can  only  be  removed  by  assuming 
principles  which  agree  with  those  acts,  and  make  the  man  no 
longer  at  conflict  with  himself.  When  the  agony  of  that  self- 
contradiction  becomes  unbearable,  to  this  the  victim  is  forced, 
and  with  Satan  he  exclaims — "Evil,  be  thou  my  good  1"  He 
hardens  himself  in  wickedness,  and  that  penetrable  stuff,  con 
science,  whose  piercing  had  given  such  pain,  is  expelled  from 
his  bosom.  In  Macbeth,  this  transition  takes  place  near  the 
close  of  the  third  act.  After  the  terror  and  disgrace  of  the 
exposure  of  the  feast,  he  sits  down  to  contemplate  his  position, 
and  the  lost  condition  of  his  soul  is  forced  upon  him  : 

"  I  am  in  blood 

Stept  in  so  far,  that,  should  I  wade  no  more, 
Returning  were  as  tedious  as  go  o'er." 

And  then  he  excuses  himself  to  his  wife  for  the  exposure  at  the 
banquet,  by  promises  of  braver  behavior  for  the  future  : 

"  My  strange  and  self-abuse 
Is  the  initiate  fear,  that  wants  hard  use  : — 
We  are  but  young  indeed." 

This  is  the  cardinal  scene  of  the  play — the  hinge  on  which 
the  soul  of  the  sufferer  swings  round  "from  soft  to  stern." 
Thereafter,  Macbeth  is  a  different  being ;  hard,  composed,  and 
terribly  consistent.  This  process  of  moral  transmutation  it  is, 
which,  as  we  suppose,  constitutes  the  main  interest  of  the  play ; 
and  this  it  is  which  Mr.  Macready  sets  himself  to  illustrate.  In 
the  earlier  acts,  his  manner  is  that  of  a  man  whose  soul  totters 
beneath  the  weight  that  is  laid  upon  it ;  we  have  the  irresolu 
tion,  the  lapses  or  trances  of  the  thoughts,  the  regret,  the  whine, 
of  one  whose  spirit,  still  meanly  clinging  to  that  humanness  of 
feeling  from  which  its  acts  have  forever  cut  it  off,  is  trampled  upon 
and  goaded  by  its  own  fiercer  thoughts  and  passions,  and  is  the 
living  victim  of  its  own  self-gendered  serpents.  In  the  ghost- 
scene  at  the  supper-table,  which  is  perhaps  the  finest  part  of  his 


448  DRAMATIC  CRITICISMS.  [JETAT.  28. 

performance,  Mr.  Macready  exhibits  Macbeth  as  suffering  in 
tensely,  agonized  in  mind  and  heart  under  the  maddening  con 
sciousness  that  this  fixed,  unmoving  image  of  horror,  is  the 
creation  of  his  own  brain,  and  that  he  is  smitten  down  and 
abased  before  his  own  being,  and  that  one-half  his  nature  has 
become  a  devil  to  persecute  the  other  half.  Then  follows  the 
hardening  of  the  heart,  the  stopping  up  of  all  "  access  and  pas 
sage  of  remorse,"  the  petrifying  of  the  spirit,  as  it  turns  to 
gaze  boldly  on  the  Gorgon  countenance  of  guilt.  Here,  the 
voice  of  the  actor  changes — his  manner  for  the  future  is  decided 
and  firm ;  from  the  slave,  he  has  become  the  hero  of  wicked 
ness.  In  the  three  first  acts,  almost  as  sensitive  as  Hamlet,  in 
the  two  last,  he  is  almost  as  ruthless  as  Richard.  Yet  still,  his 
ferocity  is  very  distinguishable  from  "  the  hardness  by  long  ha 
bitude  produced"  of  the  misshapen  son  of  York.  His  vigor  is 
passion ;  his  severity  is  impulse ;  his  courage  is  the  frenzy  of 
shame.  To  the  last,  through  the  rings  of  the  steel-armor  of 
sternness  with  which  he  has  encased  his  breast,  you  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  same  susceptible,  excitable,  quick  spirit,  which, 
in  the  morning  of  his  days,  had  made  his  appreciation  of  virtue 
so  intensely  keen,  and  his  sense  of  the  departure  from  it  so 
fierce  an  anguish. 

On  the  whole,  we  look  upon  Macbeth  as  a  character  scarcely 
less  complicated  and  subtle  than  Hamlet,  and  the  study  of  it  as 
one  of  the  finest  employments  and  pleasures  of  the  thoughtful 
mind ;  and  we  confidently  accord  to  Mr.  Macready  the  praise 
of  having  apprehended,  distinguished  and  illustrated  this  fine 
combination  and  progress  of  passions  in  an  able  and  brilliant 
manner. 


MRS.   ELLEN   KEAN. 

THERE  is  an  order  of  women  who,  from  their  first  approach, 
fix  the  admiration  of  our  minds,  and,  after  the  longest  familiarity, 
have  failed  to  wake  one  response  from  the  sentiments  :  there  is 
another  class,  whose  presence  is  a  witchery  of  people's  hearts, 
inductive  of  an  enchantment  which  the  understanding  vainly  en- 


.  28.]  MRS.   ELLEN   KEAN.  449 

deavors  to  explain  to  itself :  but  it  is  only  the  Mrs.  Keans  of  life 
and  art  to  whom  it  is  given  at  once  to  charm  and  be  approved, 
— first  to  fascinate  and  then  to  be  admired ; — who,  at  the  same 
time,  kindle  the  fine  resentments  of  the  enthusiasm,  and  satisfy 
the  searching  skepticisms  of  the  judgment ;  whose  effect  is  both 
a  mystery  and  a  reason.  If  we  were  to  give  utterance  only  to 
the  undefined  feelings  of  delight  which  rise  spontaneous  to  her 
coming,  and  attend  the  progress  of  the  scene,  we  should  convey 
a  wrong  impression  as  to  the  particular  and  high  character 
which  we  suppose  to  belong  to  her  as  a  professional  artist : 
and  if  we  dwell  upon  the  peculiar  and  rare  attainments  in 
technical  or  mechanical  skill,  which,  obviously  enough  to  us, 
contribute  largely  to  the  effect,  we  offer  violence  to  the  nice  in 
stincts  of  the  heart  which  assert  a  higher  influence  than  examina 
tion  can  account  for,  and  are  more  disposed  to  worship  than  to 
analyze.  Her  voice,  her  countenance,  her  motions,  upon  her 
earliest  appearance,  are  in  tone  with  our  conceptions  of  the  ideal 
in  elegance  and  beauty,  and  pleasure  antedates  consideration  : 
but  her  more  intellectual  and  acquired  powers  hasten  to  vindi 
cate  and  justify  the  foregone  homage  which  she  has  snatched 
from  our  bosoms,  eager  to  testify  to  us,  that  the  light  of  fasci 
nation  which  played  so  tremblingly  before  her  was  not,  like  the 
nightly  flickerings  of  the  north,  causeless  and  fading,  but,  like 
the  messenger  ray  of  the  morning,  the  growing  promise  of  a 
more  palpable  and  continuing  brightness  :  and  we  thus  have  the 
double  interest  of  being  enraptured,  and  of  knowing  that  it  is 
right  that  we  should  be  enraptured.  We  can  easily  reconcile 
the  two  points  of  view,  of  nature  and  science,  in  our  own  mind, 
but  cannot  so  readily  explain  their  consistency  to  others.  For 
ourselves,  we  have  no  conception  of  inspiration  except  as  a  more 
extended  and  more  exquisite  rationality.  We  look  on  genius 
as  only  a  more  subtle,  intense,  and  rapid  kind  of  sense.  But, 
after  we  have  explained  all  the  mechanical  and  chymical  and 
vital  elements  that  constitute  humanity,  we  have  yet  imparted  no 
just  notion  of  a  man :  and  when  we  have  explained  the  talent 
and  acquirements  of  the  performer,  we  have  given  no  sufficient 
view  of  the  excellent  merits  of  the  performance.  In  both  cases 
38* 


450  DRAMATIC  CRITICISMS.  [MTAT.  28. 

the  power  which  is  the  result  of  many  components  is  as  entire, 
instinctive,  and  natural,  as  the  components  are  varied  and  cu 
rious  ;  and  the  effect  must  still  be  described  by  epithets  not  re 
ferring  to  its  causes. 

Mrs.  Kean  is  obviously  in  possession  of  some  of  the  most  un 
usual  and  difficult  accomplishments  of  the  stage.  When  the 
curtain  rises  upon  a  play,  the  object  proposed  is,  not  the  pro 
nouncing  of  some  speeches,  or  the  display  of  certain  gestures, 
but  the  acting  of  a  scene.  The  elements  of  the  scene  in  words 
and  motions,  are  of  course  given  by  the  author :  but  much  of 
the  crystalizing  power  which  shall  group  these  into  the  intended 
form — the  vital  energy  which  is  to  associate  them  into  an  organ 
ization — must  come  from  the  actors ;  and  chiefly  from  the 
leading  actor.  To  combine  the  several  sayings  and  doings  which 
are  set  down  by  the  poet,  into  the  unity  of  a  single  joint  action, 
is,  we  take  it,  the  true  problem  of  the  boards.  In  real  life,  if 
two  people,  or  half  a  dozen  of  them,  come  together  in  some  ani 
mated  encounter  of  passion,  pleasure,  business,  mirth  or  anger, 
their  separate  acts  and  words  interlink  with,  and  re-act  upon, 
one  another,  so  as  to  develop  one  entire  impression  and  effect. 
The  capacity  of  realizing  this  result,  in  himself,  and  in  others, 
by  the  effect  which  he  has  upon  them,  is  the  master  faculty  of 
the  tragedian ;  the  one  central,  essential  characteristic  of  the 
profession,  to  which  all  other  talents,  graces,  and  attainments, 
of  any  sort  or  degree  whatsoever,  are  secondary  and  collateral. 
Mr.  Macready,  we  must  admit,  had  this  great  quality  beyond 
any  one  whom  we  have  ever  seen  upon  the  stage  ;  and  certain 
parts  of  "  Hamlet"  and  "  The  Bridal"  seemed  to  us  to  bring  out 
in  him  the  perfection  of  acting.  Second  to  Mr.  Macready  only, 
among  men, — and  before  any  woman  of  this  time — Mrs.  Keau 
stands  eminent  in  the  possession  of  this  queen  virtue  of  her  art. 
There  is  another  talent  kindred  to  this,  but  exhibiting  itself 
rather  where  a  single  performer  predominates  in  the  scene,  than 
when  several  parts  are  equally  considerable ;  it  is  that  of  pro 
perly  emphasizing  the  different  actions  and  speeches  which  are 
to  be  delivered, — fore-shortening  the  different  portions  of  the 
scene,  in  accordance  with  the  perspective  in  which  they  are  to 


.  28.]  MRS.  ELLEN   KEAN.  451 

be  seen  with  other  parts — throwing  the  proper  light  and  shade 
upon  the  picture  by  the  degrees  of  prominence  given  to  dif 
ferent  positions.  The  black  and  white  of  the  printed  play  give 
no  hint  of  these  delicacies  of  real  existence  :  there  all  is  mono 
tone  :  the  lightest  passages  are  not  distinguished  from  those 
which  are  to  be  dwelt  upon  and  made  to  ring  again.  All  this 
must  come  from  the  intelligence  and  taste  of  the  actor ;  what 
speeches  are  to  be  flung  impatiently  from  the  lips,  and  spoken 
quite  by  the  by,  and  what  are  to  be  deliberately  and  fully  uttered 
— what  movements  ought  to  escape  the  notice  of  the  audience, 
and  what  should  strike  and  detain  it ; — this  unwritten  part  of 
the  play,  larger  and  more  important  than  that  which  is  "set  clown," 
must  be  the  performer's  contribution.  In  this  respect  Mrs.  Kean's 
felicity  is  beyond  any  one  we  have  seen.  Mr.  Macready  is,  in 
this  particular,  her  inferior.  He  occasionally  lacked  delicacy  ; 
the  iron  of  his  weighty  manner  sometimes  entered  into  the  soul 
of  the  passage,  and  killed  it.  The  brilliant  and  refined  effects 
accomplished  by  this  means,  in  the  performances  of  Mrs.  Kean, 
it  is  scarcely  possible  to  overstate.  It  imparts  the  charm  of 
a  glowing  and  fine  original,  to  the  most  hackneyed  plays.  In 
her  it  seems  less  to  be  the  result  of  study  and  taste,  thaft  the 
effect  of  a  highly  vivid  imaginative  faculty,  idealizing  the  scene 
before  her,  as  she  advances.  But  the  suggestions  of  the  strongest 
imagination  could  be  availed  of,  for  attaining  such  rich  and  just 
impressions,  only  by  a  judgment  of  the  truest  delicacy,  and  a  feli 
city  of  manner  singularly  various. 

Beyond  question,  Mrs.  Ellen  Kean  is  the  first  actress  of  the 
present  day.  Since  Mrs.  Butler,  she  has  had  no  rival.  These 
two  great  performers  we  need  not  contrast.  They  were  equal, 
but  extremely  dissimilar.  We  entertain  the  hope  of  seeing  Mrs. 
Butler  again  upon  the  stage.  The  two,  alike  in  grandeur,  as 
unlike  in  nature,  may  move  in  freedom  in  their  several  spheres — 
the  eagle  and  the  swan ;  and  neither  moult  one  feather. 

MRS.    KEAN    IN   "AS  YOU    LIKE    IT." 

THE  most  graceful,  the  most  imaginative,  the  most  delicate 
actress  of  moderate  times,  appeared  in  the  character  of  ROSA- 


452  DRAMATIC  CRITICISMS.  [^ETAT.  28. 

LIND,  for  the  first  time,  at  the  Chestnut  Street  Theatre,  in  Philadel 
phia,  on  Friday  last,  September  19th,  1845.  The  house  was  full, 
and  the  performance  was  attended  to  throughout  with  the  most 
animated  interest  and  delight.  At  the  close  of  the  piece,  in  ac 
knowledgment  of  the  protracted  and  enthusiastic  applauses  of 
the  audience,  Mrs.  Kean,  conducted  by  her  husband,  came  out 
in  front  of  the  curtain,  where  bouquets  and  wreaths  of  flowers 
were  showered  upon  her.  In  our  opinion,  the  present  genera 
tion  is  hardly  likely  to  see  a  more  just  illustration  of  the  refined 
and  frolic  spirit  of  one  of  the  most  exquisite  and  characteristic 
of  the  female  creations  of  Shakspeare ;  and  surely  will  not  wit 
ness,  in  finer  completeness,  that  combination  of  selected  excel 
lencies,  in  aspect  and  demeanor,  of 

Cleopatra's  majesty, 
Atalanta's  better  part, 
Sad  Lucretia's  modesty, 

which  in  Rosalind  ought  to  be  exhibited  to  the  eye  of  the  spec 
tator,  that  the  mental  qualities  of  the  original  may  be  perfectly 
apprehended.  For  ourselves,  we  were,  simply,  enchanted.  The 
recollection  of  "the  arms  sublime  that  floated  on  the  air," — the 
gliding,  liquid  movements — the  light  and  springing  tread — the 
quick  yet  soft  transition,  wave-like,  from  thoughtfulness  to  sport, 
from  mirth  to  majesty  of  temper — the  grandeur,  just  melting 
into  voluptuousness,  of  the  arched  and  swan-like  neck,  the 
yielding  attitude,  the  speaking  eye — comes  to  us  now  like  a 
strain  of  rich,  soft  music.  Dignity  joined  with  grace,  is  the 
true  characteristic  of  this  fascinating  performer  j  in  whose  dis 
plays,  grace  often  becomes  gayety,  and  dignity  never  verges  upon 
stiffness.  Her  action  seems  to  be  taking  place  within  a  visible 
atmosphere  of  grace  ;  to  exhale  and  throw  off,  as  it  were,  a  halo 
of  sparkling  elegance.  An  ethereal  delicacy  gives  a  charm  to 
every  motion,  and  an  influence  to  every  word  and  look.  A  cap 
tivating  simplicity  seems  to  prompt  each  thought,  and  a  spon 
taneous  loveliness  to  crown  every  effort.  Her  sportiveness  is 
the  wayward,  yet  vain,  endeavor  of  a  gleesome  spirit  to  escape 
from  its  own  inherent  and  inevitable  gracefulness.  Grace  is  the 


,£TAT.  28.]  MRS.  ELLEN  KEAN.  453 

condition  of  her  being ;  like  lustre  to  a  star.  In  laughter,  and 
in  tears,  and  in  the  more  delicious  union  of  the  two, — in  move 
ment  and  in  rest — in  pensive  sentiment  and  swift-glancing  re 
partee — in  all  that  she  does,  and  all  that  she  is — the  attribute  is, 
grace — still  grace. 

In  the  romantic  class  of  Shakspeare's  female  characters, — 
Portia,  Beatrice,  Rosalind,  we  would  add  Miranda, — Mrs.  Kean's 
supremacy  is  as  absolute  and  exclusive  as  Mrs.  Butler's  special 
adaptation  is  unquestionable  to  the  passionate  order  of  the  same 
author's  conceptions, — Juliet,  Constance,  Lady  Macbeth.  The 
two  sorts  of  creations  are  distinguished  by  the  same  qualities 
which  peculiarize  the  two  performers  ;  the  characteristic  of  one 
being  imagination,  of  the  other,  emotion.  With  regard  to 
that  kind  of  comedy,  so  essentially  Shakspearian,  which  is  at 
once  familiar  and  highly  ideal,  natural  and  poetical,  in  which 
social  interests  and  ordinary  scenes  are  exhibited  to  us  through 
a  heightening  and  refining  veil  of  fancy, — Mrs.  Kean  seems  to 
be  native  to  the  element.  On  the  other  hand,  of  the  visionary 
realm  of  pathos  and  of  passion,  Mrs.  Butler  is  the  undoubted 
queen.  The  styles  of  the  two  are  widely  apart.  Mrs.  Butler's 
exhibition  of  a  character  was  a  brilliant  succession  of  occasional 
effects  ;  a  series  of  intense  and  splendid  impressions.  It  was  a 
manner  highly  emphasized ;  in  which  ordinary  scenes  were  past 
lightly  over,  in  order  to  concentrate  an  irresistible  power  upon 
passages  and  situations  capable  of  extraordinary  expressiveness. 
In  Mrs.  Kean's  personations,  that  genius  which  was  accumu 
lated  upon  separate  points,  is  diffused  ov  r  the  whole  exhibi 
tion.  Her  style  is  elevated,  sustained  and  equable.  If  you  are 
not  agitated  and  astonished  by  the  wonderful  exhibition  of 
parts,  you  are  interested  and  gratified  by  the  general  excellence 
of  all.  If  Mrs.  Kean  has  less  force,  she  has  more  delicacy  ;  if 
the  feelings  are  less  morbidly  engaged",  the  taste  is  more  uni 
formly  pleased  and  improved.  In  any  of  her  performances,  she 
may  be  said  to  have  but  one  brilliant  scene  ;  but  that  is  the 
whole. 


454  DRAMATIC  CRITICISMS.  [^!TAT.  28. 

MR.  KEAN'S    OTHELLO. 

AT  the  Chestnut  Street  Theatre,  last  night,  October  30th, 
1845,  we  saw  the  master-piece  of  the  English  stage — the  greatest 
dramatic  production  of  the  world.  Under  the  guidance  of  Mr. 
Kean,  and  his  more  delightful  wife,  we  watched  the  development 
of  that  immortal  scene,  which,  familiar  in  its  rise,  natural  in  its 
progress,  and  piteous  in  its  close,  engages  the  sympathies,  one 
after  another,  until  the  total  being  of  the  spectator  is  absorbed 
in  the  event ;  were  enchained  by  the  weird  influences  of  that 
Fate,  shadowy  and  sublime,  which,  springing  from  an  ill-assorted 
union,  impels  the  hapless  pair,  consciously,  yet  uncontrollably,  to 
destruction,  making  the  kindliest  feelings  of  one  her  betrayers, 
and  the  noblest  passions  of  the  other,  the  authors  of  their  com 
mon  ruin  ;  and  were  profoundly  interested  by  those  contending 
storms  of  emotion,  which  rage  together  for  a  while  in  the  bosom 
of  the  Moor,  like  opposing  tempests  on  the  Caspian  Sea,  till 
they  burst  in  the  ruin  of  his  happiness,  his  fortune,  his  honor, 
his  life,  and  his  soul.  It  is  no  mean  praise  to  sustain  such  a 
character  in  any  way ;  to  satisfy  the  observer,  in  its  perform 
ance,  is,  undoubtedly,  to  win  the  highest  honors  of  the  stage. 

Mr.  Kean  did  an  injury  to  his  just  pretensions  by  making  his 
first  appearances  in  Philadelphia,  in  comic  parts.  His  Don  Felix, 
and  Benedick,  had,  of  course,  very  many  meritorious  qualities ; 
yet,  substantially,  and  in  respect  of  the  essential  requisites  of 
the  performance,  they  were,  comparatively,  failures :  they  dis 
played  taste  and  talent  and  study,  yet,  on  the  whole,  they  were 
from  the  purpose  of  the  plays.  In  fact,  all  that  there  is  about 
him  is  of  tragic  build :  he  carries  such  weight  of  metal,  as 
sinks  the  light  crafts  of  comedy.  We  missed  his  Hamlet :  in 
Othello,  we  saw  him,  for  the  first  time,  in  his  native  proportions 
and  true  character.  In  the  lowlands  of  gayety  and  mirth,  he 
had  appeared  to  feel  the  constraint  and  awkwardness  of  a  false 
position  and  a  borrowed  title ;  but  his  first  movement  in  the 
Moor  seemed  to  declare  "My  name  is  MacGregor."  We  have 
been  wont  to  think  Mr.  Macready's  Othello  the  greatest  his 
trionic  exhibition  that  we  had  witnessed  j  we  are  now  satis- 


J3TAT.  23.]  MR.  KEAN'S  OTHELLO.  455 

fied,  after  a  close  consideration  of  Mr.  Kean's,  tliat  Macready 
had  given  us  some  erroneous  views  of  some  of  the  characters  of 
the  play,  and  of  the  agency  by  which  the  catastrophe  is  worked 
out;  or  rather,  to  be  candid,  had  confirmed  certain  wrong  im 
pressions  which  our  own  thoughts  had  long  before  suggested  to 
us ;  impressions,  we  mean,  unfavorable  to  the  delicacy  and  per 
fect  integrity  of  Desdemona's  character.  The  resistless  grace 
of  Mrs.  Kean's  simplicity  and  frankness,  soon  set  us  right  upon 
this  point :  the  majesty  of  her  "  I  am  your  wife,  my  lord  : — 
your  true  and  loyal  wife,"  scattered  and  swept  away  the  last 
remnants  of  doubt ;  and  at  the  feet  of  her  "  His  uiikindness 
may  defeat  my  life,  but  never  taint  my  love,"  we  beg  permission 
to  recant  and  unsay  all  heresies  in  any  wise  impairing  the  spot 
less  and  angelic  nature  of  the  "gentle  lady."  Mr.  Kean  made 
the  action  of  the  piece  turn  chiefly  upon  the  peculiar  organiza 
tion  and  temperament  of  the  Moor,  as  the  child  of  a  different 
and  lower  race  ;  honorable  from  conscious  rank,  controlled  and 
mild  through  the  necessities  of  official  position,  yet  essentially 
dull  of  intellect,  .  .  .  astute  enough,  but  lacking  strong  coura 
geous  sense  .  .  .  and  capable,  by  the  operation  of  the  passions, 
of  being  transformed  back  to  his  original  turbulence  and  wild- 
ness.  The  moral  influence  of  this  conscious  inferiority,  as  lead 
ing  easily  to  suspicion,  jealousy,  distrust  and  subjection  to  the 
guidance  of  others,  is  easily  comprehended  :  but  Mr.  JCean 
brought  out,  in  a  distinctness  we  had  never  before  seen,  the 
physical  or  physiological  operation  of  these  natural  peculiarities 
of  race  and  nation. — When  lago  brings  his  infernal  machinery 
to  bear  upon  him,  you  are  less  impressed,  in  following  Mr. 
Kean's  conceptions  with  the  varying  progress  of  opinion,  in 
Othello,  than  in  the  utter  change  of  nature  that  takes  place : 
the  slumbering  sympathies  of  a  savage  origin  are  reawakened 
within  him.  We  feel  how  significantly  his  sagacious  lieutenant 
had  characterized  him,  at  the  opening  of  the  play,  as  a  "  bar 
barian."  He  is  passion-struck:  the  intellect  has  sunk;  the 
blind,  mad  instincts  of  animal  fury  are  roused  in  this  drunken 
ness  of  the  feelings.  You  are  no  longer  in  company  with  a 
civilized  and  educated  man  :  the  savage  is  before  you,  in  all  the 


456  DRAMATIC  CRITICISMS.  [^ETAT.  28. 

wild  and  crested  turbulence  of  native  ferocity.  His  nature  falls 
at  once  below  that  of  his  intellectual  companion  :  he  reverences 
and  follows  the  mental  lead  of  lago,  as  a  savage  worships  his 
Fetiche.  In  carrying  out  this  striking  and  fine  conception,  the 
surprise  and  awe  with  which  Mr.  Kean  makes  Othello  turn  to 
look  at  lago  when  he  begins  to  pray  beside  him,  were  electrify 
ing.  The  readiness  with  which  he  gives  up  his  own  intention 
and  adopts  lago's  advice,  as  to  the  method  of  putting  his  wife 
to  death,  was  exhibited  as  belonging  to  the  childishness  and 
weakness  of  a  fallen  and  degraded  understanding.  When,  in 
the  later  acts  the  storm  has  subsided,  and  honor,  justice,  self- 
control,  and,  with  them,  reason,  have  returned,  the  foregone  con 
clusion  of  the  passions  is  too  deeply  seated  to  be  shaken :  the 
fact  of  guilt  has  been  settled  in  a  mind,  too  resolute,  now,  to 
re-examine  the  grounds  of  belief,  and  the  conduct  that  follows 
is  such  as  any  man,  absolutely  persuaded  of  his  opinion,  might 
adopt. 

Such  is  the  impression  which  Mr.  Kean  gives  us  of  Othello ; 
td  us  it  is,  in  part,  new,  and  it  is  certainly  ingenious,  reasonable, 
and  in  the  highest  degree  effective.  Were  we  required  to  saj* 
what  passages  appeared  to  us  to  be  particularly  striking,  we 
should  indicate  the  whole  of  the  scene  in  which  intelligence  is 
brought  to  Othello  of  his  recall  to  Yenice,  and  Cassio's  appoint 
ment  in  his  stead — the  exclamation  to  Emelia, 

"  She's  like  a  liar  gone  to  burning  hell  ; 
'Twas  I  that  killed  her;" 

and  the  "Farewell"  speech,  which  we  heard  pronounced,  as  we 
are  very  sure  it  has  not  been  since  the  death  of  the  elder  Kean  ; 
the  last  line,  "  Othello's  occupation's  gone,"  in  which  each  suc 
cessive  word  seemed  to  echo  from  a  profounder  abyss  of  gloom 
and  despair,  was  admirable.  But  brilliant  parts  cannot  make  a 
great  whole,  and  little  special  decorations  of  manner  do  not 
constitute  a  grand  personation :  the  one,  conclusive  question 
still  remains— did  the  performance  give  truer  and  clearer  views 
of  the  character,  and  render  the  entire  play  more  probable, 


.  28.]  MR.   KEAN'S   OTHELLO.  457 

more  consistent,  and  of  a  higher  intellectual  interest  ?  In  view 
of  this  test,  we  give  to  Mr.  Kean's  Othello  our  full  approbation. 
We  may  express,  in  conclusion,  the  satisfaction  we  have  in 
seeing  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kean  have  rendered  the  theatre,  once 
more,  the  resort  of  the  class  called  "fashionable,"  and  that,  in 
the  revival  of  the  Shaksperian  drama,  the  circus  and  the  pan- 
tomine  and  the  ballet  are  falling  into  discredit.  Without  affirm 
ing  that  the  moral  influence  of  the  drama  is  ever  of  the  highest 
kind,  we  yet  think  that  as  counteracting  the  natural  tendency 
of  fashion,  which  with  us,  especially,  is  to  the  lower  grade  of 
exhibitions,  the  regular  drama,  in  promoting  refined  taste  in  a 
community,  and  in  elevating  the  subjects  of  social  concern,  and 
the  topic  of  conversation  in  the  drawing-room,  exercises  an  in 
fluence  friendly  rather  than  otherwise,  to  purity  and  virtue. 


39 


APPENDIX. 


APPENDIX   A.— See  Ante,  p.  66. 

PROTOCOL  of  a  Constitution  of  a  Society  for  the  publication  of  Letters  and 
other  Documents  of  the  War  of  the  Revolution — to  be  incorporated  under 
the  title  of  "  Contributors  to  the  JOHN  MARSHALL  Fund,  for  the  printing  of 
Letters  and  other  Writings  of  the  War  of  the  Revolution." 

OBJECTS  AND  PLAN. 

The  purpose  of  this  Society  is,  the  publication  of  Original  correspondence, 
nnd  other  writings,  relating  to  the  Revolution  of  1776,  and  bearing  date  be 
tween  the  first  meeting  of  the  Continental  Congress,  in  Philadelphia,  in  1775, 
and  the  adoption  of  the  Federal  Constitution  in  1789.  It  is  not  intended  to 
form  a  collection  of  MSS.,  but  to  effect  the  printing  and  publishing  of  MSS. 
remaining  in  the  possession  of  private  persons,  and  of  societies.  MSS.  pre 
sented  to  this  association,  shall  be  handed  over  to  such  of  the  Historical  So 
cieties  of  the  States,  as  shall  agree  to  place  MSS.  in  their  possession,  at  the 
disposal  of  this  Fund  for  publication.  Persons  having  papers  of  importance 
which  have  not  been  printed,  shall  be  invited  to  allow  such  papers  to  be  pub 
lished.  If  entrusted  to  this  Society,  they  shall  in  all  cases  be  immediately 
copied,  and  be  printed  from  the  copies,  and  tho  Society  engages  to  return 
promptly  to  the  owners,  without  injury,  the  originals  of  all  papers  thus  en 
trusted  to  them :  or  if  the  proprietors  choose  to  part  with  the  originals,  they 
shall  be  deposited  in  such  one  of  the  State  Historical  Societies,  acceding  to 
the  agreement  above  stated,  as  shall  be  deemed  most  appropriate.  Persons 
not  willing  to  entrust  papers  to  the  Society  for  the  purpose  of  being  copied 
for  publication,  shall  be  requested  to  furnish  copies,  or  allow  copies  to  be  made 
in  their  own  possession  by  agents  of  the  Society.  But  no  papers  shall  be  printed 
but  with  a  certificate  by  some  person  of  character,  that  such  copies  are  entire 
and  accurate,  and  with  a  reference  to  the  person  or  society  in  whose  possession 
the  original  is. 

The  labors  of  the  Society  shall  also  be  directed  to  the  ascertaining  of  what 
letters  and  documents  of  the  Revolution  have  heretofore  been  printed,  and  to 
the  facilitating  of  reference  to  them,  by  the  compilation  of  Classified  Indexes 
of  Letters,  <fcc.,  in  which  such  Letters,  &c.,  shall  be  arranged  according  to 
their  subjects  and  dates,  and  their  contents  briefly  described,  so  as  to  bring 
them  readily  under  the  view  of  the  students  of  history. 
(458) 


APPENDIX.  459 

ORGANIZATION. 

The  officers  of  the  Society  shall  consist  of  a  President,  four  Victr-Presidenta, 
thirty  Managers,  a  Standing  Committee  of  Publication  consisting  of  nine  per 
sons,  a  Secretary  and  Treasurer.     The  officers  at  the  time  of  the  organization 
of  the  Society  shall  be  the  following  persons  : 
PRESIDENT — Daniel  "Webster. 
VICE-PRESIDENTS — John  Quincy  Adams,  James  Kent,  Albert  Gallatin, ? 

MANAGERS. 

%  New  England.  N.  York  and  Philadelphia.  The  South. 

Dr.  Warren,  Hon.  John  Duer,  Dr.  Moultrie. 

Josiah  Quincy,  John  C.  Hamilton,  Middleton, 

The  representative  of        Charles  King,  Mitchell  King,  Charleston, 

Artemas  Ward.  Joseph  R.  Ingersoll,  Dr.  Stevens,  Augusta. 

[Seven  more.]  John  Penington,  [Seven  more.] 

J.  F.  Fisher. 

[Four  more,] 

STANDING   COMMITTEE    OF   PUBLICATION. 

Philadelphia.  New  York.  Boston. 

William  B.  Reed,  John  McVickar,  Jared  Sparks, 

Edward  D.  Ingraham,       George  Gibbs, ? 

H.  B.  Wallace.  George  Bartlett.  R.  H.  Dana,  Jr. 

Secretary. 

— ,   Treasurer. 

BY-LAWS. 

All  persons,  not  corporations,  shall  become  members  by  subscribing  annually 
five  dollars ;  but  no  one  who  has  once  subscribed  shall  cease  to  be  a  member, 
or  to  be  liable  to  the  payment  of  five  dollars  annually,  unless  before  the  end  of 
the  year  he  gives  notice  in  writing  of  his  withdrawal.  Subscribers  shall  be 
entitled  to  receive  a  copy  of  every  book  and  engraving  published  by  the  Fund 
during  the  year.  Subscribers  paying  eight  dollars  a  year  shall  receive  copies 
of  books  on  large  paper,  and  India  proofs  of  engravings.  Corporations  and 
governments  may  become  subscribers,  but  shall  not  be  members. 

The  President  shall  summon  a  general  meeting  of  the  members  to  be  held 
at  New  York,  whenever  he  is  requested  to  do  so  by  a  majority  of  the  managers. 

The  Managers  and  other  officers  shall  meet  at  New  York,  on  the  1st  Monday 
in  September  of  every  year.  Vacancies  which  have  occurred  in  the  Board  of 
Officers  during  the  previous  year,  shall  be  supplied  by  an  election  by  ballot, 
from  the  members  of  the  Society.  Any  members  of  the  Board  of  Officers  may 
be  removed  by  a  general  meeting  of  the  members,  called  as  above  provided, 
and  others  elected  in  their  room. 

The  Standing  Committee  of  Publication  shall  consist  of  nine  persons,  of 
whom  three  shall  be  residents  of  Philadelphia,  three  of  New  York,  and  three 


460  APPENDIX. 

of  Boston.  Vacancies  occurring  shall  be  filled  by  the  committee  from  the 
members  of  the  Society:  but  the  Board  of  officers  at  their  annual  meeting, 
may  remove  any  members  of  the  committee  and  elect  others  in  their  room' 
This  committee  shall  be  the  Supreme  Council  and  Executive  Board  of  the  So 
ciety,  in  the  intervals  between  the  annual  meetings  of  the  Board  of  Managers  ; 
and  shall  have  authority  to  dispose  of  funds,  enter  into  contracts,  and  transact 
all  business  on  the  part  of  the  Society. 

A  statement  of  the  proceedings  of  the  Standing  Committee  of  Publication 
shall  be  read  at  the  annual  meeting  of  the  Board  of  Officers,  and  printed. 

At  the  annual  meeting  an  address  shall  be  delivered  publicly  by  the  Presi 
dent,  or  some  one  appointed  by  the  Board  of  Officers  at  their  previous  annual 
meeting. 

The  Society  shall  print  annually  three  volumes,  and  one  engraving  from 
some  portrait,  not  before  engraved,  of  a  person  eminent  in  the  War  of  the 
Revolution. 

Every  volume  printed  by  the  Society  shall  be  carefully  edited  by  one  or 
more  persons,  selected  by  the  Committee  of  Publication. 

Persons  conferring  important  benefits  upon  the  Society  by  the  communica 
tion  of  original  papers  for  publication,  may  be  elected  honorary  members  of 
the  Society,  by  the  Standing  Committee  of  Publication,  and  their  names  shall 
be  printed  in  the  annual  statements. 


RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

CIRCULATION  DEPARTMENT 


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